What do I do now? There are no maps
No brushstrokes gesturing to where I could have gone,
Whimsical curlicues pointing my way.
No celluloid images flickering my history at me.
“To become who you were meant to be, you have to kill the past.”
Is that what I have done? No phone calls with my parents for nine years.
Who gave me the right, one other human children never had, to
Sever that bond? To act like I’m made of metal, wielding a light
Saber that manufactures their consent. How many years
Am I allowed to stay this light? No burden
Other people roll their eyes and put up with. “Oh, Dad.” “Mom, please.”
When she decided nothing could stop her pulling me
Into her bed. When he explained how I would always deserve
Being cursed. “Beyond the pale?” But what if we were always
Too far behind the dark? Dark behind dark,
Moving where people couldn’t see.