They refer to me as “The Mystery”
Such a clouded history.

They say that I’m a closed book.
But maybe that’s just because not enough time was took,

They see me as a mammoth task.
When really all they have to do is ask.

One mistake is all it did take.
Now I only seem to shake.
So much sometimes that it can look fake.

Asking for help.
With a whimper or a yelp.

Heart wrenched.
Jaw clenched.
Forehead sweat drenched.

Keep hearing that evil voice,
But it appears not to be a conscious choice.

Tainted at such a young age,
So hateful and full of undiluted rage.
Now confined to this “cage.”

Unwanted and unloved,
Constantly just pushed, pulled and shoved.

I am a curse.
“Please, just put me in my hearse!”