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Click. Click... Click… click.

      You, a model, a teacher... You should be. You are a half to a wholly pair as old as time. The sweet cry of a sleepy kitten carried to its bed, soft whispers to keep out the night, the sounds of love. Should. Should. Should should, should but are not! 

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We are cesar... and you, Brutus?

Then. Such a dark place, a dark time. 

Then,

That time I felt so hopeless I ignored life to lie in bed, to do nothing, despite wanting, needing to do something, anything. 

It’s a feeling of hopelessness, then.

Then, I had trouble talking to my friends because I felt they hated me…

but it wasn’t them, it was my insecurity.

Somedays I feel like a million pieces.

Divided. I don’t know, what I feel and when I do, do I really?

And the truth is, 

you and I are linked… I am who I am because of you.

And it doesn’t matter that you love me, because at the end of the day, you’ve hurt me. So much. 

Click.

In preserving memories you lose them, surrender the experience, and crush any chance at real connection. Always documenting but you never bother to cultivate a genuine connection.

You rip out your humanity, 

only to replace it with greed

and pride. 

I know it’s unreasonable to expect people to be perfect,

But some people are so far from that.

And yet those people,

who keep making the same mistakes over and over and over and over… are the ones who try to redo their life by controlling others. But they make the same mistakes.

Of course they do, will they never change?

Click.

Perfection is a virtue that can never be reached, and it is a burden to strive for.

You cannot shed a burden by carrying it.

Obsessed with embalming memories that will not matter without having lived the moment, you forgo children, preferring instead scapekid trophy goats. And yet, nay, and so, they are Lucifer when you disassemble. When the pair is split.

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You are a mockery of a wholesome pair, John Kennedy would disapprove, for you ask the wrong question. 

I see your work throughout the world, broken children, tears and self disgust and confusion hidden behind the awards. Some are dead, some are healing, all are hurting. 

You will forever follow Odysseus, for their cannot come kleos from the broken hearts of children.

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And yet… I will be great, I will be…  not lonely, NOT hating myself, not suppressing my own emotions.

But then, NO, now. 

Now... I am in front of a crowd doing what I thought I could never do! 

But it is what I must do. I need this to grow and heal.

We must not forget the struggles of the past, must not block them out, but neither should we torture ourselves with them.

This poem is not really about me, it’s about everyone I know who has suffered at the hands of a caretaker.

But do not forget. 

Do not forget the two thirds that, miraculously make one, that stitch generation upon generation to one another, that come together to their ends, that raise. 

We are great, and we will be better tomorrow.

The world is still beautiful.