The Surgeons warning

I can’t take full credit for what is about to follow. This was inspired, in part by Loony (you can check out her blog in my list of favorites) and a conversation we had when I introduced myself to her. This idea was floating around no doubt, but it precipitated into something real thanks to a response to something she said. So I feel like she needs some of the credit for the inspiration. As I’ve said in the disclaimer, I give credit where it is due. I’m not one for poetry so bare with me, this will be my first real (and possibly only) attempt at it.

The Surgeons warning
The child that love forgot, he should’ve been an abortion it would’ve been more meaningful.
The load his mother should’ve swallowed or his father should have flushed.
Why bring something into the world you don’t want was a question outside of his understanding.
At age three she walked out the door.
At age four he convinced his son that she left because she didn’t love him, he was too ugly.
At age Five he would’ve rather been dead than alive.
At age six he was introduced to sex, just the tip daddy said. His daddy called it love.
At age Seven the teachers started asking about the bruises.
He was told by a nice man in the office that they cared,
that he should give his father this mans card.
He had something that he needed to talk about with daddy.
The call was never made.
no follow up was ever done
The boy learned an important lesson that day.
Daddy isn’t doing anything wrong; keep daddy time a secret.
After a week the boy was let out of the closet again.
At Eight it was back to grandma, Daddy discharged a firearm in the house in the middle of the night.
Normal for him since he waved it around enough.
Daddy destroyed the furniture and apartment with knifes and strength, all normal for Daddy.
Grandma was no better, her ex husband used to beat her so she ran away.
To this day she doesn’t understand that hitting a child is just as bad as someone hitting her
But when she was in control of the pain it was okay.
At Nine he wore a smile, the last line of defence to hide the pain he was anything but happy.
At Ten the other kids noticed he was different.
The called him fat and weird, they didn’t understand food was his only friend.
Food never hit, only helped.
Food was always there at school when he needed it the most,
he did odd jobs to buy it for himself, but at home it was a different story.
Food was locked away, out of reach unless he worked for it.
A slave in the household of the damned.
At Eleven he would have bloody noses once a week.
At Twelve he was lucky if it was only twice a week.
At Thirteen he was lucky if he was hit with just the hand and not a frying pan.
At Fourteen the pain was too much he wanted to die, but all that came out of his mouth was that smile.
Fifteen rolled around and he moved back in with Daddy he was a different man promising a better life.
Sixteen, he was the same and the boy ran to live on his own,
he was an adult finally free from the prison known as abuse he MADE IT!
At Eighteen he joined the military,
he wanted to fight for those who couldn’t because no one fought for him.
Twenty he was raped by three drunken men.
He hadn’t escaped the prison he was in, just his cell.
Twenty Two he lost his Uncle the only man to ever love him to suicide.
Twenty five he has more pills than friends.
Pills to be happy, Pills to sleep, Pills to focus and Pills for anxiety.
Pills to wake up and Pills to fake normal. Pills to deal with the side effects of life.
SO many sad things to process and share, to pull out of boxes you didn’t even know was there.
Things that molded and left to rot, things that he would’ve much rather just forgot.
With surgical precision he wished he could remove the pain, what he wouldn’t give just to be sain.
Come on Doc just one more cut to take the pain away, he didn’t care if he couldn’t remember yesterday
As long as tomorrow had promise to be something that he wasn’t.
Just cut the cancer out that was his life, but they just didn’t make a big enough knife.
The Doc just looked in his eyes and said,
Now son, you’re lucky to be alive statistically you should’ve been dead.
Too late Doc, he flatlined in his mind a long time ago.
There is nothing left but the scars of the pain that will never go it’s still there.
Just one more cut or one more pill, something to fix his brain so he can just be the same as everyone else.
But he’s not, he never will be.
As he lays on the table looking up at the Doc, just turn on the gas and make the first cut.
The Doc looked in his eyes and told him more lies.
Don’t worry son, you’re going to be okay in the morning.
A promise of another day, that was the Surgeons warning.

Thanks for the courage Looney.

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11 responses to “The Surgeons warning

  1. Well this is not what I wanted… Okay I guess I need to fix this haha. Sorry for anyone following. I’m having some technical issues on my end, or maybe on wordpress’s end, who knows.

    • Aww well thank you. Maybe I will start writing poems more often. Although for whatever reason wordpress is being awful to me. None of my tags seem to be working. But whatever it’s here for anyone to read… if they can find it haha.

      • Oh I know, it’s a pain. When I first started wordpress I couldn’t add any tags in Internet Explorer (for some reason) so I ended up downloading Google Chrome and it worked on that…

        Great poem…

  2. Haha yeah I use chrome, I can tag just fine it isn’t showing up in any of the reader tags though so I don’t know but I give up. I’m glad you approve though 🙂 it’s always nice to know people actually want to read what I wrote.

  3. Pingback: A year of Gabriel | Life of a Fallen Angel·

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