My child is neither broken nor stupid in any way,
What you take for anger is their way to vent frustration
At that which escapes them on any given day.

My child is my baby I don't care what you think or say,
Having kind words spoken instead of a scream or shout.
It,s better for there understanding than words not shouted
Out, but explained for them to so they understand what
The question, explanation is all about.

My child may be not your child but never call them broken
Or stupid, know that my child will learn, but in a different
Way from which you were taught.

we have found each other
   across thousands of miles
   across different cultures and traditions
    
we have found each other
   among seven billion plus people
   on this globe

   finding each other
   was the easiest part

   strangers in the night

   staying together
   has been truly challenging
   at times

idiosyncracies
failures deficiencies fears
hopes wishes dreams
illusions and taboos
pieces of history from previous lives
   keep popping up at crucial moments
   in often Freudian transfigurations

   innocuous words
   may trigger convoluted memories
   freighten new contexts
      with old pain and sorrow

   a gesture
   a tone of speech
   a situation
   suddenly turn into déjà vu
   twisting their present freshness
      beyond belief
   into habitual frames of order

   the prisons of our pasts
   do not offer easy escapes

yet we have found each other
   among the billions on this globe

there is no other but the each
   to build a life together

Deceiving others is easy
But not a good deed
Deceiving own self is difficult
One who performs
Remains in difficulties all the life

i practice pulling my bones, at the joints,
little bones out of bigger bones
i practice breaking my knuckles
pulling muscles
pitching forward onto dead earth.

i practice getting myself out of scrapes
even if it leaves me a little less whole
as a person. a ****** laughing mess.
i practice hurtling towards the sun,

i throw myself at you. quickly,
you recoil. you sputter. you spit.
we are flames,
burning out.
we are flames.

Two roads,
did not diverge,
in my dying wood.

There is no clear path,
I am wandering,
and wondering,
where do I go from here?

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