Nothing is not pain, and somehow not as simple as
being no more than nothing would explain.

Vaguely showing signs of love
Tamely cooking up
meals of modesty
bravely ******* up
priorities, honestly
I though for a time
those emotional commodities were none existent
Reminiscent of nothing.
I didn't know of loving
and my weekly rations of half arsed hugging
didn't feed an appetite for much more than
pokemon cards and chicken nuggets.

What child would grow in a void of the unknown
to love the people who left them
alone and longing
whilst furnishings and trinkets they bring in
as if to say that
a child is no more worth a thought than
the millionth handbag or lamp shade brought.
And to that child these things are nothing.
Nothing in love and nothing in family
and yet more worthy of attention and affection than them,
but that's fine.
Such consistent rejection had some effects on me
and I found my joy in toys and confectioneries.

To know the familiar face of nothing
and paint on that blank canvass a picture of something
easier to define for the lack of light
and in some morbid way, that may be my blessing;
A comprehensive and profound understanding of the things I'm missing.