A Morning of Mourning

I lost a friend long ago…the best friend I ever had…a good friend one that listened and understood and was there thru the tuff times, that shoulder to lean on that genuine truthful voice of reason and integrity. He was there at conception and lost at birth. The world stole him. The noise of society cloaked his cry and the media hid his trail. So I grew up with out him, not knowing I needed him. Dumb to the fact that I lost the best thing that would ever happen to me. How was I supposed to know my life’s distraction would be replacing the very thing I never knew left? How was I supposed to make it in this life; I function but I don’t live. My eyes burn from searching; my heart aches from feeling; my mind is split from knowing and my souls dying from living. The greatest love of my life I can’t find I have no leads, no witnesses, and no chance of continuing without it. I hold it together until my knees weaken and the weight of my body, soul, and situation becomes too much. My eyes blur and I cry out. I shout into that void hoping to be saved, hoping to be rescued, hoping to be freed. I wonder what happened to all of those who said they had my back, who we’re supposed to love me, supposed to care. You were the only legs I had to stand on and you can’t be found, can’t be reached? Uncontrollably I cry while my subconscious tries to pull it together so I can walk out the door. “Now is not the time, you have things to do and places to be.”

“It’s never the time; but one must keep up appearances, even if that appearance doesn’t fit or make sense.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do without it anyway…” I was robbed, jacked at birth the one thing I was entitled too and there is no report I can file and no authority I can send to find him. I lost myself long ago and despite my best efforts I can’t find me. I’m here, I must be because I hurt; it’s the only thing I do feel I can’t numb myself to it, I can’t run from it, I can’t loose it. I just can’t give up before it does but it doesn’t relent. Unyielding it has become me the worst part, the dark festering part. Like that closet you’re afraid to open because god knows what you stuffed in there. I peeked once. Come to find out there’s some shit in there that’s not even mine. Garbage leftovers of some else’s life that were given to me because I had extra room at birth. Because I had space to let and didn’t even know no one ask permission, no asked if I’d mind, and no one paid me a dime! And since then people have been moving there shit into my house for far too long. I am not a garage, dump or storage facility. I’m not a morgue so you can keep your skeletons out of my closet. I’m not a scary movie so you can keep your monsters from under my bed I’m not a nut case so you can keep your ideas out of my head. I may not know a lot of things but I know what I’m not. I’m no longer yours…

A Morning of Mourning

LoveTradition

Odenton, United States

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