Great GrandFather

Great Grandfather’s Grave.

“I see these people, everywhere I go, who care so deeply about their mother, or father, or sister, brother. Then I look at myself, I’m no where near them, I despise my mother, hate my father, I have no brothers or sisters to even think about.”

“I didn’t turn out this way for no reason, by all accounts I should at least be pissed off, if not dead. I’ve had to deal with real problems, growing up I had the normal kid problems sure. Get grounded for a week, a month, three months, because I didn’t want to do what my mom said, couldn’t do well in school all the time. But I’ve had to deal with the problems no kid should have to. Being shot at by my first step father, beaten on the side of a road in the dead of winter driving home after Christmas. Having to clean up after my mom who went out drinking the night before, learning to cook, ‘cause she couldn’t do it.”

“So now here I am, all grown up, Grandpa, I’m not the little boy I once was. And it hurts, it hurts so bad, I can feel it in my heart. This family of ours, the family you loved so much, that Grandma loved so much, it’s fallen apart. Every time I open myself to them they don’t listen, to me or themselves. A broken record of me defending her, and them pissing her away. And yet here I am, two years with out even a text from her. She doesn’t care, as much as I can’t forgive her for betraying me, not listening, just like the rest of the god damned family.”

“Every time I open my heart, it’s ripped to shreds, every time I open up the feelings I hope to finally share are thrown out by friends who call on me, but don’t return the favor. Who side with me when it’s convenient, but care nothing about helping me when it’s not. Girl friend, boy friend, what ever, who ever, all I’m ever left with is heart ache or sorrow, or misery. Even if all I’m doing is helping them with their own issues.”

“Why is it that I can look at people who are older than me, and feel ever so much older than them? Why do I feel so tired, when my life has just started? The answer is I don’t know, or I wouldn’t be asking those questions, and you aren’t even here to help me. Not like when you taught me Italian, or when you made me spaghetti. Not like when Grandma was still around, and you were happy, and Christmas was fun. Not like when the whole family was there, and I could sit on the swing and feel free, and when I always had as smile on my face, so much that you’d always ask me why.”

“Now I sit alone, late at night, thinking about those times when everyone was together. And how the shadows of my room are so much alike those from my memories. With the lights turned off and the street lights glimpsing in. I stare into space, wanting that hope that I’m willing to share. Wanting to keep with the friends that I would one day, maybe call me family. But those friends, that I held so dear, are gone. On there own paths, and mine separate, a fork unattached, uncrossed, except in a time I can never go back to.”

“See you Grandpa, I’m sorry for this sad report, nothing seems right to me. Nothing seems right.”

Great GrandFather


Joined November 2007

  • Artist

Artist's Description

A letter to my Great Grandfather I meant to be more of a poem. Sadly these are things he’ll never hear or see. He died when I was eight.

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