A man- this is- a fire bellied man
who sticks his blue-collar hand
in the fridge
to grab effervescent happiness,
grab the past 25 years,
grab his turmoil
gulp down his prideful facade.
A lulling fly is my feeble father-
the one who stares is he-
but in our eyes no contact,
no connection is made.
For he understands not my world-
innocent childhood had not he;
sealed in red like secret letters- his memories hide themselves;
seared to his tongue burn true lies-
the hypocrisies I believed in.
But to run from him is to run from myself.
Through the scarred and smitten womb,
pain has brought forth smoldering pain.
The fight against my environment,
The fight against my fleshly instructions- God’s data-
leaves me in a cognitive dissonance
and I know not whether to embrace he who is me
or approach the slurring monster in anguish to confess,
“You are pathetic.”