To PERTINAX,
Too long has pain been a blanket,
Smothering your soul to flickering embers.
Your spark, caught in a continuous updraft,
Only to be lost amongst stars too far to see.
Pain, a forever companion, details the scars
That mar the beauty nature has sown within.
Darkness, forever a rain cloud, soaks a spirit
Bent and broken by fatherly expectation,
Unattainable,
By a son cursed to wonder why he feels alone,
When surrounded by love he cannot understand,
Or chooses not to,
For fear that feeling will hurt worse than the numbness,
Ever-present in the mask of hatred and jealousy,
Coveting all that he has not earned,
Wanting to be more than the sum of the parts he built,
Some of which lie shattered at his feet as tears fall,
Slowly lubricating gears that had atrophied
In a dark rigor mortis where bare fists seize,
Their constant beatings of black-and-blue memories,
Where control was subverted by passions not in line
With the values that created the monstrosity,
Inherited by a man whose lack of love stained him,
A tarnish that self-berates and self-hates the lack of love
He does not feel.
Choices that forever hold back the sway of emotion
He was never equipped to deal with,
Even when surrounded by motherly affection
That consistently put him first, even when she was last.
Shame is not a big enough word to describe the pain
Of letting down the single light in his world,
That has full faith he can shed the weight that chokes,
With a firm grip begging for release into the peace
Of death.
More scars to carry forward and harm the flesh
That traps what could have been beautiful,
Had he just bled the toxins that poisoned his mind
Against the dreams that raised him to be more.
Failure is his greatest fear.
For fatherhood has now grasped this broken man,
And the blood now flows to them by association,
Repeating the same mistakes that led him to bleed,
Expecting family to be the boon that heals all,
A purpose not his own to selfishly inflict on innocents,
Too pure for a world of pain, hate, and ugliness,
Unaware that beauty can exist in a damaged man,
And that love can heal all if shared honestly.
A two-way street that begs him to traverse it,
Opening up and allowing light and beauty to shine,
The way to loving himself,
And forgiving the corruption he allowed to rest
Within the center of his chest.
I can love myself.
I am beautiful.
I am not a waste.
I can be more.
I can get better
With time,
Then truly love those who have loved me in my absence.
—PERTINAX
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 4:29 PM UTC
To PERTINAX,
Too long has pain been a blanket,
Smothering your soul to flickering embers.
Your spark, caught in a continuous updraft,
Only to be lost amongst stars too far to see.
Pain, a forever companion, details the scars
That mar the beauty nature has sown within.
Darkness, forever a rain cloud, soaks a spirit
Bent and broken by fatherly expectation,
Unattainable,
By a son cursed to wonder why he feels alone,
When surrounded by love he cannot understand,
Or chooses not to,
For fear that feeling will hurt worse than the numbness,
Ever-present in the mask of hatred and jealousy,
Coveting all that he has not earned,
Wanting to be more than the sum of the parts he built,
Some of which lie shattered at his feet as tears fall,
Slowly lubricating gears that had atrophied
In a dark rigor mortis where bare fists seize,
Their constant beatings of black-and-blue memories,
Where control was subverted by passions not in line
With the values that created the monstrosity,
Inherited by a man whose lack of love stained him,
A tarnish that self-berates and self-hates the lack of love
He does not feel.
Choices that forever hold back the sway of emotion
He was never equipped to deal with,
Even when surrounded by motherly affection
That consistently put him first, even when she was last.
Shame is not a big enough word to describe the pain
Of letting down the single light in his world,
That has full faith he can shed the weight that chokes,
With a firm grip begging for release into the peace
Of death.
More scars to carry forward and harm the flesh
That traps what could have been beautiful,
Had he just bled the toxins that poisoned his mind
Against the dreams that raised him to be more.
Failure is his greatest fear.
For fatherhood has now grasped this broken man,
And the blood now flows to them by association,
Repeating the same mistakes that led him to bleed,
Expecting family to be the boon that heals all,
A purpose not his own to selfishly inflict on innocents,
Too pure for a world of pain, hate, and ugliness,
Unaware that beauty can exist in a damaged man,
And that love can heal all if shared honestly.
A two-way street that begs him to traverse it,
Opening up and allowing light and beauty to shine,
The way to loving himself,
And forgiving the corruption he allowed to rest
Within the center of his chest.
I can love myself.
I am beautiful.
I am not a waste.
I can be more.
I can get better
With time,
Then truly love those who have loved me in my absence.
—PERTINAX
