Borderline poetry - #BorderlineParent

Borderline poetry

Ronin - Faces of Portland

Who was it that made you kill yourself, God asked.

Well it wasn’t just that one, it was the pressure of the many. I replied.

Then God started to tell me: Blah Blah Blah…

Oh, that’s right…

I forgot. I don’t give a shit. Made in your image, I give you the finger you placed on my hand.

I blame you for the good and the bad, I hope that doesn’t make you mad.

The fact that you’re a God and I’m just an ant,

Why didn’t you let all those babies live, how could you kill them all like that?

I say fuck those who think they know. Where were they and their brilliance when I was being tied upside down in the closet? Oh, I don’t get that respect! Fine, what about the beatings I took from friends of friends of the babysitter because a seven-year old couldn’t finish the whole snack? Or the times I fought off attackers from rival gangs, hanging by my pant legs into a Pitbull pen?

I give you exactly as I should. Place the credit where the credit is due. So, I say, I may have biased pre-determined faith, but you’ll get a fucking earful of my rage when you dim my light and expect me to calmly walk through. I say fuck your creator… and mine too.

The dark void that is my sadness…

I’m tall, dark, and handsome.

Your partner eyes me down

I bet I could take ‘em without ransom.

Don’t worry, I’ll provide feedback to their exploits.

Send you the recordings when I’m through

Screaming orgasms, terrible pain, a juxtaposed position from where they lay.

Don’t you want to see it? How they moan and scream, as I provide them with what they really need.

You’re not a loser, you’re just a pawn on the screen.

Hold steady, I remind them, the knife can get slippery after shooting a scene.

I’m like you.

I feel what you feel, the pain, the sadness, the misery. Oh no? I sure as shit do! It’s all mixed with the countering personality that loves everyone too much; only God knows I do. I wish the best for every soul that comes through, I just wish I wasn’t a soul that needed something to do. The problems of others confuse me through and through. Why put so much weight on something that’s a construct of our time? I see all these pathetic souls whining about their mood, their media, their school. Maybe I was blessed, like you, to not only witness tragedy—but to be a part of it too. This separates us from those that belong and from those that deserve. As we fit in just the smallest portion of grey area…right between the two.

As you read, my love for you grows. Wait! Am I just like the rest of those fucks who value life based on their number of likes? I fucking hope not. I love you for you. For reading this through and through. Alas, if you skipped ahead and are reading this anew… I both, fucking love and fucking hate—You.