January 15, 2005

• Remembered a part of a poem I wrote when I was a teen (or as the adults would have said) a troubled teen. Remember, at that time I was rather suicidal, did not care what happened to me, and felt like a freak, odd and unusual. I knew that most kids around me were not abused, so I felt like dirt. At the time this poem was written, my father had died and the courts moved me back to my mom’s house. My mom was an alcoholic, so often I would come home and find her passed out on the floor, once she burnt a hole in the arm of a chair. She also blamed me for my father’s death because I embarassed them by letting my sister know my father was abusing me too. Here is the poem, it is not as deep as many of the poets on the Xanga site, but I was in a rhyming mode:

  
  

  In a corner,

  
  

  All alone,

  
  

  I sit and bemoan

  
  

  All the evils of society

  
  

  I see so clearly inside of me.

  
  

  But it is hopeless and of no avail

  
  

  For any attempt at solution will fail.

  
  

  Race riots, robberies, killings, elections,

  
  

  Lead me to many strange reflections

  
  

  Of societies crumbling and governments tumbling

  
  

  But it is hopeless and of no avail

  
  

  For any attempt at solution will fail

  
  

   

  
  

  That is all I remember of the poem. It was written around the time of desegregation and when the first black child came into my school. The parents were up in arms, I was surprised that people were so cruel. Of course I was an outcast at the time, so was friends with all the other outcasts. I suppose they would be called geeks today. But there was so much hate, and I guess I realized that I too had a lot of hate inside for those who had hurt me so much.

  
  

  What touched me in remembering this poem is the line: It is hopeless and of no avail for any attempt at solution will fail. I am a bit beyond that now, but not that much beyond. It is better, there are lights at the end of the tunnel and when I sink into depression it is never so deep as before. And I know that it will pass if I just exist day to day.

  
  

  I also know that I do take tiny steps to help others, perhaps it is a drop in the bucket, but enough drops in a bucket will create a lot good. But I still am a bit hopeless of things improving.

  
  

  I still feel God as rather distant. But then I want Him distant. Up close and personal would be too frightening. But I wonder how much God wants us close anyway.

  
  

  Thanks for not laughing at my poem.

  
  

  Heather

  • 11:17 pm
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