deepundergroundpoetry.com
To Oochie Wally
I’m sorry for the times I screamed,
For the times I didn’t understand our genes,
Because in the beginning I didn’t know there something was wrong,
When you kept repeating everything you heard and went along,
Echoing every word I said,
Echoing every word I said.
Oh, your face.
I remember that time we sat in the restaurant,
When the band started playing right up front,
And even though I knew the music was loud,
You started crying so hard in the crowd,
I didn’t know what was wrong,
I didn’t know what was wrong.
Oh, your tears.
I recall the times I had to take time off work,
Because in kindergarten class they thought you were a jerk,
You just wouldn’t listen to the teacher,
But we didn’t know the features,
It was like you were trapped inside a prison,
You had the classic signs of autism.
Oh, your eyes.
I thought “No, not my son, how can this happen to me”,
But it wasn’t about me, it was about solving the puzzling mystery,
It was about seeing the world through your eyes,
Because in discovering you I would be able to sympathize,
And then understand you more,
And then understand you more.
Oh, your smile.
I know that your mom and I couldn’t work it out,
But I had to heal to deal someway or somehow,
Because I looked back and I thought,
There were many reasons why we fought,
I too was on the spectrum,
I too was on the spectrum.
Oh, my reflection.
Forgive me for not being a better father in those days,
I made my choices and that took me farther away,
But the short time we spend together fulfills my heart,
Even though we so spend so much time apart,
And that what gets me inside,
And that what gets me inside.
Oh, my tears.
I’m sorry I pulled away as the years flew by,
But there we many nights when I’d cry,
Thinking I should’ve been better, written you more letters,
Calling you or texting you saying “Son I’ll love you forever.”
But then I hear you say the same words,
But this time you’re using your own words.
Oh your smile.
For the times I didn’t understand our genes,
Because in the beginning I didn’t know there something was wrong,
When you kept repeating everything you heard and went along,
Echoing every word I said,
Echoing every word I said.
Oh, your face.
I remember that time we sat in the restaurant,
When the band started playing right up front,
And even though I knew the music was loud,
You started crying so hard in the crowd,
I didn’t know what was wrong,
I didn’t know what was wrong.
Oh, your tears.
I recall the times I had to take time off work,
Because in kindergarten class they thought you were a jerk,
You just wouldn’t listen to the teacher,
But we didn’t know the features,
It was like you were trapped inside a prison,
You had the classic signs of autism.
Oh, your eyes.
I thought “No, not my son, how can this happen to me”,
But it wasn’t about me, it was about solving the puzzling mystery,
It was about seeing the world through your eyes,
Because in discovering you I would be able to sympathize,
And then understand you more,
And then understand you more.
Oh, your smile.
I know that your mom and I couldn’t work it out,
But I had to heal to deal someway or somehow,
Because I looked back and I thought,
There were many reasons why we fought,
I too was on the spectrum,
I too was on the spectrum.
Oh, my reflection.
Forgive me for not being a better father in those days,
I made my choices and that took me farther away,
But the short time we spend together fulfills my heart,
Even though we so spend so much time apart,
And that what gets me inside,
And that what gets me inside.
Oh, my tears.
I’m sorry I pulled away as the years flew by,
But there we many nights when I’d cry,
Thinking I should’ve been better, written you more letters,
Calling you or texting you saying “Son I’ll love you forever.”
But then I hear you say the same words,
But this time you’re using your own words.
Oh your smile.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5
reading list entries 1
comments 8
reads 547
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.