It doesn't bother me that,
my parents are abusive.

It doesn't bother me that,
my poetry goes unnoticed.

It doesn't bother me that,
my friends think I'm psychotic.

It doesn't bother me that,
I'm the worst of both batches,
maternal and paternal.

It doesn't bother me that,
I have nothing left.

But the trees and the sky,
keep me alive long enough,
to get a perspective.

The pines whisper that in a few months,
I'll be released from their tyrant grasp.

The birds murmur that my poems,
are the best ******* words they can't understand.

And even the clouds,
grab me by my shoulders,
and thunder in my face,
that I have so much left to learn.