Upbringing

Hi Guys/Gals, im looking for poems relating to your own upbringing,how it has shaped you (were you wrapped in cotton wool ? strict parents ? left to your own devices ?) it can be old or new material, max 200 words please

Wayne, not strictly within the criteria but I was looking for somewhere to post this, hope you don't mind.

A word in your ear, dear boy

oh, and you should probably know
that the world stops caring
as soon as you grow your third tooth
because no matter how cute you may be
some other little baby has already
stole your thunder

then, you're on your own dear boy
stuck in a corner with a bottle of milk
and some old toy handed down
from god knows who

and you, you'll become one
with every other thing thrown aside
'cos your parents are too busy
living the good life, to need reminding
of your existence.

so, as you grow up on your own thoughts
turn to some kind of relief
from the hurt and grief of years gone
get disowned for the umpteenth time
for the last time

then your parents buy you a nice box
say "he was a nice kid taken in his prime"
when they throw a handful of dirt
and leave you there in some corner
of a graveyard overflowing with nice kids
and get busy living the good life.

so yeah, welcome to the magic roundabout dear boy.  

 

      "The Daughter You Wanted"
It's all your fault and you both know it,
You keep me trapped in a little girl's body,
Too blind to see through my innocent eyes,
The lies hid behind my back are bloody,
And maybe if you let me live my life alone,
Stop prying about things not your own,
Maybe if you didn't force me to keep secrets,
I would be the daughter you always wanted.

I'm not good enough and I see it in your eyes,
I do everything you want but still I'm not good enough,
So I shut my life away from yours,
I might listen and do your chores,
But there's no meddling with my life,
I'll twist, stain, ruin it to my likes,
My soul will rot and I will be happy,
Because then I will be set free.

it was good (to be bad)


to return to center stage again
i'd repeat that worn-out lie
to relive the warmth and pleasure
i would sulk, pout or cry

i would've preferred a gentle hand
with an occasional pat on the back
but rather than get indifference
i learned it was good to be bad

Reminds Me of Home


Cigarette smoke clouds my vision
The smell of booze fills the air
A sort of stale, humid breeze
Sifts its way through my hair

I feel welcomed in this place,
...Though it may not be my "scene"
Broken bottles, here and there
It might not be so clean....

In a sick, twisted way
It reminds me of home
Where the drugs would flow freely
For my senses to roam

No one giving me a second glance
Just like my mom..
So I sit down, drink a little
And her memory is gone

Soon enough I'm slurring
So I take another shot or two
And before I even know it
All the others are gone too..

blurry lines

my mother drew the line at him informing me
how to shoot up
like it was meant to be funny
educating a kid on how to be a junky

it’s moments like that where I wonder
if words can kill
the memory of them like the cigarette burn
I’ll forever carry on my arm
from the time he hugged me
while happily drunk  

there’s a temptation that plays over in my head
eggs and beer being washed through my hair
with tears that run down my face
in humiliation and a lack of understanding
of how coating a seven year old in beer
is funny

boys brought up with God complexes
with cocks like guns
used as weaponry against the “fairer sex”
as though every little girl needs a “daddy” figure
to teach her about belt straps
and bucket bongs

and men are never wrong
even when they’re never right
and everything is so fucking serious
all the time
no time for chocolate
when the scales have added a pound
“drop and gimme twenty!”

she drew the line at him telling me how to shoot up
and reminded me every day that I was beautiful
and not to worry about silly men that called me fat
but the thing about having an absent father figure
and random men come in and out of your life
is there is always a desire to find that approval
in men that don’t deserve it
and they taught me things
no child should ever have to know

she never had the courage to do it differently

[u]Super Giant[/u]


for the son  
of Michaelangelo  
home  
a most precarious  
place to go  
 
such  
is my plight  
Pop continues  
to burn  
Super Giant Bright  
 
guiltless  
of pre-meditated  
fault  
greatness  
is outgrowth  
of his natural Gestalt  
 
whether or not  
expectations  
run wild  
in our sires minds......
in our own  
we are constantly scrutinized  
 
simultaneouslly
compelled and resigned  
to enter fields  
our Dads
have mastered  
cause their genius
they had luck to find
 
meanwhile
we are mired    
half-heartedetdly  
in challenges  
others see  
as measures  
of our ultimate Equity  
 
the cruelest joke  
when descended  
from such geneology  
is sometimes  
we`re blessed  
with gifts extraordinary  
of less similarity  
 
thus Chronos  
most valuable  
wasted in areas fallible  
potential remains trapped  
amid resources  
seldom tapped

.:Lap Dancer:.

http://netajibosemysteryrevealed.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Tiny-Chinu-in-mothers-lap.PNG


1.

When on my mother’s lap,
It was there I met comfort and safety
All and any harm would most times evade me.
Ushered away by all she could and had to give

I would live.

Laying or sitting there happy; I was content
They were the best of times well spent.
That flat surface; my first observatory deck
Wherein a baby-to-toddler’s mind could reflect
There I was overlooking mankind
Sometimes I would dine, occasionally un-wind
My own little getaway
This place...the home base
Right outside my mother’s womb
There, I had plenty of room

She, like me…we would be all smiles
I had so much to navigate; with so much to learn
Things to figure, information to discern



2.

On my second lap...My father’s lap
There was far more to figure; there I learned rigor
For me to understand about the anxieties of life
While on my father’s lap
It could often be an intimidating place
This space many times it was arduous with strife
Yet on my father’s lap; I still felt protected
Though an absolute comfort was a thing oft rejected

This lap was The Beginning of Unrelenting Tests
From his lap the polyrhythms, the intricacies of discipline
Much of what father knows best
These things caught and manipulated my attention.
I held on; to hold on
Wherein his laughter had dimension

Did I mention..

Upon both these decks, these laps
They really set the tone
Both platforms introduced me
at times seduced me
supporting me in preparing
for...building decks
creating rhythms,
running laps of my own.




..

Less Than Ideal

I used to sit in the floor
Glue my eyes to the tv screen
It painted images in my young mind
That ultimately made me scream

I'd see happy families
Gently rocking their children to sleep
Or playing on their neatly trimmed lawns
Holding their children when they'd weep

Anger welled inside me
Why couldn't I have it?
A mother who smiled and loved
Instead of one with insulting acid spit

A daddy who protected his family
Instead of a twisted step father
Whose intentions were laced with greed
And getting inside me farther

Where were MY pretty white walls
And polished counter tops?
Family dinners,or board games?
Instantly dried tear drops?

No, my house was a wreck in itself
With meth stained drywall
Glass littered floors, from broken windows
Holes from where my parents would fall

The whites of their eyes stained yellow
Their mouths filthy,rotting and dead
Twitching fingers, spastic steps
Their bulging stomachs over fed

I recall those restless nights
Laying on bare bed springs
Drifting to sleep through the police sirens
With my parents earsplitting screams

I look at the scars on my skin
Silently thanking them
For every bruise they've inflicted
And wound they've caused within

My childhood was less than ideal
Dissipated into a cloud of THC
Drowned in a sea of alcohol
From which now I am set free

These four walls
Became my home
I didn’t know I could feel so alone
Lock the door
Throw away the key
Don’t worry yourself
Forget about me
Go out and come back
Ignoring my screams
Maybe I will escape in my dreams

you seen us,
at places like Walmart
probably laughed
though you sure as hell didn't
to our face

my first brand-name shoes
hand-me-downs
from a cousin,
my haircut
many years past due

Mom,
had dreams
excelled in the prominent girls-school
of our city,
but couldn't compete with a 50time looney-bin
mother
and between her and her five sisters
and six dads
she was on her own by 17
I appeared by 19
(truth was that grandpa went away early, being that hood-micks did the work for italians as seen in movies, in my city)

Dad
never really had time for dreams
between the meth-lab-stick ups
the stabwounds, gunshots, and inevitable incarceration.
My earliest memories of him were at Dallas penitentary
in upstate Pennsylvania

Not to be mistaken,
they got their shit together
raised a decent family.
Ozzie and Harriet,
with a few bruises

Moms dreams came true enough
all her kids are artists.
Dad, he passed away
but made sure that of all the fuck-ups
all the irresponsibilities,
having a child
can not be one

I believe that last entry was a few words too long..
So, I shortened it

Less Than Ideal

I used to sit in the floor  
Glue my eyes to the tv screen  
It painted images in my young mind  
That ultimately made me scream  
 
I'd see happy families  
Gently rocking their children to sleep  
Or playing on their neatly trimmed lawns  
Holding their children when they'd weep  
 
Anger welled inside me  
Why couldn't I have it?  
A mother who smiled and loved  
Instead of one with insulting acidic spit  
 
A daddy who protected his family  
Instead of a twisted step father  
Whose intentions were laced with greed  
And getting inside me farther  
 
Where were MY pretty white walls  
And polished counter tops?  
Family dinners,or board games?  
Instantly dried tear drops?  
 
No, my house was a wreck in itself  
With meth stained drywall  
Glass littered floors, from broken windows  
Holes from where my parents would fall  
 
The whites of their eyes stained yellow  
Their mouths filthy,rotting and dead  
Twitching fingers, spastic steps  
Their bulging stomachs over fed  
 
I recall those restless nights  
Laying on bare bed springs  
Drifting to sleep through the police sirens  
With my parents earsplitting screams  

My childhood was less than ideal  
Dissipated into a cloud of THC  
Drowned in a sea of alcohol  
From which now I am set free

These hands have fallen once more
In this elaborated sin and plot
Hideously pulling threads from my skin
Ripping the ties of sanity from their core
Forgetting the reason to why we even fought
For the idealistic games we couldn't win

Seconds passed as I watched my chaotic mania
Harshly fade into what I'm becoming today
A Lifeless excuse of exsistence and deceit
Spewing an ill coloured lust of anemia
Constricted to the place that we lay
Our disgusting fears in the anxious heat

Evoked by the scutinizing talking halls
Where all that had once lived has now died
Consumed by the herds of the bold faced mass
Songs came on and I hid in those ugly stalls
Moments felt like days as I sat and cried
Wishing for some pride to attend a simple class

The institute had always been so far from kind
As I spent most those weeks under the trees
Lonely places where I was free from those eyes
Isolated with nothing but the cackle of my mind
Creating screeching insults from the passing breeze
Auditory halucinations fueled by karma and lies

My eyes have seen much better days than this
Flying in unicence with bliss and it's fate
Just to reach the peak of my ascent
Manipulating every old friend into nemesis
Turning all interest into a mind numbing hate
All that prevails shall end in descent

Left to go my own way,
Grow at my own time,
Swaddled like a baby,
and taught with open mind.

Baby girl, she's so sweet,
So unlike the rest.
She's so meak,
And does detest,
To speak up, even if for her best.

But spoilt has she been,
And so she cannot handle
The smallest complaint,
A single roar,
If aimed at her face.
She cannot handle,
An ideal future-
Hoping for someone to help.

There's no backbone.
Even though she tries.
Still swaddled like a baby.
Only aiming,
to be a person of kind,
Open, heart and mind.

Never Alone

I was born a twin
Throughout my life of whom I've been compared to
Not only do we share a room but we share lives
We share family, friends, teachers, secrets, fears, and dreams
It sound pretty cool
And it shaped who I am today 
But I made  it my mission to be different
She was an artist, I an athlete 
She was talkative, me quiet 
She claimed attention, I was witty
 If she liked pink I liked blue
She loved cats I loved dogs
None the less we got called each others names
Had "twin" days
Said the same thing at the same time
That happens a lot actually
We hated sharing clothes fought every minute
But I learned what's important 
What to fight about 
And we could be loving and gossiping the next minute
When times were tough we had each other and each other to blame
And it's not like the movies 
We could never trade places
But I wouldn't want to 
Because I learned to be myself
I mean who else is gona be me? My sister
Pshhhh yeah right 
She may be my twin but that is one role
She cannot pull off