Derick knew what he had done,
To earn the impression of delinquency.
He had broken the law many times,
And fought with people frequently.

His mother branded him a danger,
To society and himself.
His father branded him a stranger,
His real son lived upon a shelf.

"See this boy here?" his dad would say,
Tapping a photograph of young Derick.
He remembered that day,
When life had been more generic.

That was before his father slouched alone,
Bottle in palm of hand,
Talking to women on the phone,
What a role model, what a man.

"I see the boy," Derrick said,
His voice quiet as night.
"But I don't see the man,
Who prompted me to fight."

Little Derik came across his father,
Back then, talking to his women,
He managed to anger the man,
Who hit him then claimed to be kiddin'.

His father flushed with anger,
He hit his son in the face.
"Don't you dare say that,
You know your place!"

Derick, he was deemed society's menace,
Few cared that his father drove him so,
I hope that you will judge less,
For you simply never know.

When I was a boy,
My heart resembled a rose,
Which could not see chaos,
My innocence did show.

When I became a young man,
The rose, it grew thorns,
Dark, hardened bits formed
When I was made to mourn.

It seemed life handed death to me,
Like it was running out of time,
Running out of time to break me,
That conclusion I did find.

But those deaths have not affected me
Like the living tragedies have,
And the living tragedies drive me closer,
To thoughts I once never had.

Here I am, reaching the end of adolescence,
A time that is meant to form us as people.
Here I am, feeling that I deserve more grief,
That I have always been inherently evil.

The horizon offers much for me,
But I fear it will not come easily.
Then again, it could not be worse
Than what life has dealt me habitually.

So, onward I will march,
As I have done for quite a while.
Though the bullets strike me often,
I will somehow endure this trial.

What words should I have?
What can I possibly say?
What will ease your concerns,
Better your agonizing day?

The truth is, as long as pain continues,
And your muscles never mend,
You will never be at ease,
There will be no words I can lend.

You make the pain, my mother,
As long as you accept drink as lover,
The pain is not going to cease,
You will never recover.

These are the words I have found,
There you are, my sweet mother,
Now it is your decision, make the choice,
Are you done or will you have another?

All I know is living in the fire,
Feeling the heat, scalding hot;
All I know is infinite hurt,
The tears that it brought.

I am learning life is fragile,
Lest you tie it down with the strongest rope,
The winds will buffet it at all times,
Rendering it impossible to cope.

I am learning moment by moment,
In a way that is mine alone.
I am strengthening each day,
Resembling the toughest stone.

Living in the fire has taught me,
Independence is life's most valuable jewel.
To ignore that vital truth,
I would be proving myself a fool.

You have existed seventeen years,
And blossomed into a man of integrity.
The seasons pass, but you remain grand.
Your kindness and warmth bless this land.

Seventeen years, a tiny fraction of time,
Yet your decency resonates like a chime.
Your arms have been my anchor these years,
Your mind open to me, you have listening ears.

I am stunned by your resilience.
For it speaks of your love for life.
You do not realize how much you love this place,
For it has caused those tears on your face.

Continue growing, my resilient flower,
My resilient man of power.
I will love you for all of infinity,
This connection the boldest of affinities.

Happy birthday, you have aged one more year,
And you grow wiser with each day.
I love you, my handsome prince,
You and I are here to stay.

I have grown,
Yet people think I have fallen.
I have known,
Yet I am tired of calling.

A mere boy at twelve years of age,
I became something frightening.
A mere child who turned a nasty page,
The change struck like lightning.

I had seen abuse,
Trauma plagued me each day,
I dreamed of noose,
Thought God would make me pay.

People met my words,
I called them ******* and ******,
Mocked them as *****, geeks, and nerds,
For my mind had few doors.

My homosexuality burned within my being,
Struggling against the bonds of religion.
I did not want people to start seeing,
My ****** "sin", fragile as a caged pigeon.

I cut into my wrists,
Hoping for some truth to seep out,
Every day I encountered lists,
Of similar youth who "noped" out.

God hated me, that I believed,
He wanted me to bleed then die,
I knew not how to be relieved,
Knowing my pigeon would never fly.

But as the abused grow tired of abusers,
I became tired of God,
Whom dealt me a life of users,
A life significantly flawed.

My situation was not enough,
For the pain did not end with abuse, or cutting,
He dealt me the deaths of three I loved,
Set on the task of my gutting.

Or so I believed at the time,
When God harbored within me.
When mythology guided my climb,
When I remained unfree.

I threw off the shackles of religion,
No fictional being could **** my pigeon.
What God would put me through all that,
Then proceed to bless a sewer rat.

What God would **** children,
What God would **** children?
You do not have an answer.
Why do children die to cancer?

I will respect you,
But I will not share your belief.
Too much pain, for me and others,
It continues to daily reap.

I have grown,
Yet people think I have fallen.
I have known,
Yet I am tired of calling.