I was pronounced dead at the age of ten while eavesdropping
a conversation from a few neighborhood friends ...
Succumbed to wounds suffered from the revelation of
my physical ugliness in the eyes of others , dropped dead
where I stood , left , ran away and cried myself to bed . Still running in my mind at times ...
I was killed again by melancholia at age thirteen from a lunatic teacher
that made sport of me ... He's a crier so I heard , a freak that would never amount to anything in this world , a runt of the litter to be frowned upon , someone to be used and preyed upon ..
Shot in the head with an invisible bullet at fifteen , called a long haired
idiot by someone very dear to me , a guitarist wannabe writing songs
like all the ******* do , societies queer not worth the dirt between his boots , a lazy ******* with no place to be and nothing useful to do ..
Chastised by acquaintances for not working on cars or hunting  , watching NASCAR , playing poker and drinking liquor with 'the boys' .
... My preference was sipping coffee , reading the dictionary , playing the guitar and taking pictures .. My toys are Walt Whitman , Carl Sanburg poetry books and oak walking sticks for touring my precious Hill Country !
You ******* killed me emotionally but I'm still treading the Earth , I'm writing like a man possessed and whistling like a mockingbird , found
the love of my life , working everyday to become the best 'me' that I can possibly be , watching you beer bellied , obese , obtuse ******* physically dropping dead like green blowflies all around me !