Maybe if I had punched them in the face,
as a consequence for picking on me,
yes, bullies were everywhere, in the home,
bullies at school, as teachers, as students,
engaged in everyday activities,
if my mother, father, and brother cared,
for instance, maybe I wouldn't have to...
I wouldn't have to kill them all, murder,
has a sound like thunder in pouring rain,
after the lightning strikes, flashes brightly,
diminishes behind ominous clouds,
perhaps if my brother didn't hate me,
unable to take care of me, he taught
neighborhood kids what a freak he thought I was,
cared only to throw me under the bus,
how I wish I had killed him as a child,
except then I would be scarred far, far worse,
despite being raised by sadistic wolves,
today it is better never to speak,
however much they think they are family,
even in their delusion, they presume,
yes, they imagine I grew up happy,
isolated from family, my friends knew
nothing, how sad I was deep in my heart,
that childhood in paradise could be worse,
however likely, became apparent,
even as my faith in religion failed,
faith in the family, for me, was a lie,
as they saw me as a sociopath,
correction, I am an articulate,
enduring human being, a poet.
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