I grew up in a religious home,
they implemented this dream
that one day ill be come a priest
And it was the only way to make them happy.

I lived this silly dream up until the end of 5th grade when i realized,
There is no god.

Fore how can a man of such holy stature commit all these heinous crimes against his own "children".
I was 10 years old when i realized i had enough, that my voice needed to be heard.

They dont talk about little boys getting molested, almost intentionally looking away as if it never happens.

Us boys are taught a long list of rules from a young age to never cry, never show fear, never back down, just a whole lot of nevers.

But I was never taught to deal with a grown man inside me.

Believe me it hurt, it hurt more than any pain i have felt to this day.
What made it worse was the one inside me, my father.

At first it started off innocent enough, he was drunk and didnt know what he was doing.
But it soon progressed into a side business he ran under the table
"20 dollars, 20 mins"

At 8 years old, brandy became my best friend. She was the only thing that numbed my pain, although forced down my throat so I wont fight back, I learned to enjoy the burn.

A year later i went to my first party.
Months of getting beat down and broke all was ment for this day.

23 guys; one boy.

When a published poet dies,
A shooting star falls.
The universe cries
And rainbows hugs waterfalls.

When an old poet dies,
A new poet is born.
Nature lights up a million fireflies,
And a ship gives a tot on its horn.

When a young poet dies,
A Crack appears in a crystal ball.
A Fountain pen dries,
And a sad poem appears on a wall.

When an old poetess dies,
For a while the wind will cease.
Petals will fall from Lillies,
And disappear without a trace.

When a great poetess dies,
Fallen poets observe silence.
The men adorn black bow ties,
And the ladies dress in elegance.

When any poet dies,
The world loses a bright mind.
Shakespeare appears across the skies,
Waving to those of us left behind.

When a poor poet dies,
Nothing at all happens.
The world goes about its duties
He goes on to rest with other legends.


#IvanBrooksPoetry
29/7/2018