Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 11 December 2005

Broken Again

When I was six-years-old, I got broken.
I was on a playground somewhere,
At a school somewhere,
In a town somewhere,
And I had begun to know
That other little boys had
A Daddy
Or a Papa or a Dad
Someone to make cards for on
Father's Day
Someone to bring to
Bring-Your-Dad-To-School Day
Someone to take them to the
Father-Son things that came up.
I went back to the place we stayed
Wanting to be picked up in strong arms
And lifted to broad shoulders,
But there was no one waiting for me.

When I was nine-years-old,
I got broken again.
I was in a library somewhere,
At a school somewhere,
In a town somewhere,
And I'd been called a word that I didn't understand.
Bastard.
I looked it up
And I realized that was what I was.
The child of unmarried parents.
The son of a man whose name even my mother didn't know.
The child of a woman who didn't want to be called Mom.
I wanted explanations; I wanted to understand.
I wanted to know if there was a man somewhere who
Wondered about me as I wondered about him.
I wanted my mother to make it all better.
There was no one waiting for me.

When I was twelve-years-old,
I got broken again.
I was on a stage somewhere,
At a school somewhere,
In a town somewhere,
And I'd just won the State Spelling Bee.
Champion.
And I realized that was something I could never be.
There were no proud parents watching me.
There were no happy relatives waiting to congratulate me.
There'd be no grand celebration for my success.
I walked back to the place I was staying
While Naomi was away,
Back to some other people's home,
And dropped the trophy in the trash on the way.
There was no one waiting for me.

When I was seventeen-years-old,
I got broken again.
I was in a village somewhere,
In a jungle somewhere,
In a country somewhere,
On my first expedition.
And the girl I'd just tried to kiss laughed at me.
She was twenty-one, she reminded me,
As were all my classmates.
I was just so young, she said.
It wouldn't be right, she said.
I was just too smart, she said.
She couldn't compete, she said.
I'm sorry I laughed, she said.
I went back to my tent alone,
Red-faced, humiliated, hurt in a way I didn't know I could hurt,
Glad, for once, there was no one waiting for me.

When I was twenty-five,
I got broken again.
I was in a loft I called home,
In a town where I lived and didn't just stay,
With a man I loved.
But my home is empty,
My belongings packed,
And I am once again being sent away
I longed to kiss you, just one time
Before I went away.
But I was afraid you'd laugh at me,
Or call me a bastard,
Or even knock me down.
I went to the motel alone,
Lost in a place where no one waited for me.

When I was twenty-five,
I was broken again.
Broken beyond repair.
I was lost in a school I should have known,
Confused in a town that was my home
Destroyed in a way only you could do
You thought I betrayed you
And that destroyed me more fully than anything else could.
You sent me away and someone else found me.
She found me and wanted me
And I only wanted you
She hurt me, and I cried,
But my tears were for you.
Tears sliding freely down my cheeks,
Each drop scalding me, marking me, branding me yours.
I hurt so much, so badly, so completely
Then, I wanted to scream,
I was so angry.
But now I'm numb.
The water closes over me,
My lungs ache to breathe.
I'm just numb.
Darkness rises up around me
And I walk into it alone,
Saddened to my very soul that no one waits for me.

I got broken again
Too broken to fix this time.
And then I died.