I was born with brown hair, brown eyes.
A preference, making me fearful of demise.
Fearful of a possible end.
To connection of loving family, to lifelong friends.
It is said, I was not born this way but made.
It is said, I am deserving of hate.
So let's agree for argument's sake.
I was not born this way, but made.
To my childhood confusion, my brown eyes were made blind.
My head of brown hair was filled with thoughts unkind.
Made to keep anything but a smile to myself.
I was made to think I am unworthy of help
I was made withholding, distant.
Brought to intolerable self loathing in a single instant.
I was made trapped in disconnect
To me, to those I love, to those I just met.
I was made to ignore my devotion, my affection.
My internal parasite, my soul's terminal infection.
I was made to feel helpless, worthless, hopeless, and terrified.
To feel relentlessly consumed and out of compromise.
To severed connections I was made willing.
Desperate for the happiness my fear was killing.
I was made angry, spiteful, and out of care to give.
Left cut open and raw, still wanting to live.
So let's agree for ignorance's sake.
I was not born this way, I was made.
Share This Poem