I often questioned in life, why my
Existence was different from the
Way I observed in others.
Probably a very self pity point of
View. In my young years it was too
Mystifying to understand why I
Was ashamed to bring my
Friends home, that they would see
How we lived. When I went to
Their homes, everything seemed
To be in place. No one was angry,
There was food on the table,
Mother’s talking kindly to their
Children, father’s playing with
Them.
But then when I would have to go
Home, with the chaos and
Confusion, I would retreat to
Another room, hoping to be out
Of the way in case there would be
Another blowup.
In later years I questioned why I
Was born, as Job of old mourned
His existence for all the troubles
He had. But he never cursed his
Creator.
~~~
Oh Children of the womb,
Are you all created
Equal?
One a story one a
Sequel?
The womb from which you
Come
A mother looks down with
Fondness
And Affection
One in harshness and
Rejection
One child’s fate lingers
On earth
Another is quickly taken at
Birth
Some struggle, some are
Blest
Others receive no rest
With
A conscience pricked from
A hand too
Strict
Tides ebb and flow upon
The soul
To be consoled by something
Higher
The womb has now become
A cross
All things on this earth are
Loss
The child comes forth with
Faith unshaken
Her wounds soon taken, but
For insult and injury
She has received, she would
Have
Remained on earth in
Misery
~~~
This is a mystery!
Donna's Poetry Blog 
Yes Yes Powerful! Poignant. Important. I full-on resonate with the way you stuck to the trail of the tightrope, and still played the expansive leeway’s whenever you pleased. This is a strong pice!
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Thank you so much Jordan, for your encouraging comment, it means so
much to me, and bringing attention that the comments do not appear on my
posts!! But for you that would have remained an overlook. So grateful for
this!
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