Tuesday, August 20


I've always felt there was something
terribly wrong with me.

 I almost died while my mother was in labor.
Apparently, her umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck
and I was choking every time she pushed.
Even then, I knew I didn't want to be
born into this shithole.

It was a difficult birth.

I've had a difficult life.

I tried to be good
but there's just this darkness inside of me
It keeps trying to get out.

There is something wrong with me.
There is rot and stench underneath this doll-mask I wear.
I've always felt like an abomination
like my womb is a catacomb
and my words are venom.

I want to be good
but I think I am the anti-Christ.
I shed no tear when they buried my brother.
In fact, I think I was relieved.
Somehow, I felt free.

There must be something wrong with me.
I wanted my mom to shut up
when she was crying her heart out.
My hands itched and itched
and I wanted to fling the nearest
object to their faces.

Instead I approached his coffin
made the sign of the cross
and muttered "Good riddance".


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