RIDDLE

To have been put up for adoption at birth,

OR,

To have had parents that hated You for being born, chanting when You walked through the door from a brutal day at school because "you do not think right, you do not speak";

“I wish You had never been born!”

Which would You choose?

Is such a Riddle, a trick question?

Is there any possible satisfactory Resolution?

Such is what I pondered as a Child, and I must admit, on occasion I still go back to that time of asking that question of self and the world I was trapped in for an answer.  As I wrote my book of “poetry”, or more like “rantings”, I realized that I know had been given the answer to that child's question.
It was just My childish question to the “Universe”, as I healed from the strikes of last, knowing there was more to come.

Now as One who is Grown, I conclude there is No clear Resolution for “that child”,
just the paradigm of One’s Life.

With The First option, I would have at least stood a chance of being adopted by good Souls!

As it stood, I had no chance of that materializing, which I admit I had prayed for: If they die, maybe someone kind will want me? "Please God, make them DIE!"

The Fates chose to put me in a place that had no honorable way out.

The Axiom that “We Choose our Parents” is pure cruelty to speak to one in such a state of Entrapment.

No Resolution, but Lessons learned
that need to be shared.

What I came from, no matter how cruel, is of no determinant denominator of Myself to be used by You, or by Me, as I chose to seek Good within Myself!

Thoughts of what I found to be valid, at least for me, just a few listed here that I think you will understand in greater depth by time you are done reading my notes of experiences that reside in my “little gray cells”.

There is NO truth to be found in the shallow words:

“God only gives you what he knows you can handle.”

Three sisters having reportedly died from their own hand casts doubt to that axiom’s validity, chanted by those who know nothing!

The delta between My Sisters and myself?
I was able to see that we were birth from persons unable to Love.  Thus, I never asked My parents for what they could NOT offer; an answer to “What did I do Wrong for You to hate Me so?”
I learned that Devils must be seen as they are, not as I wish, or Prayed for them to be, or to become.

They have no “good side” to their nature, other than They are consistent:
Example:  Age 10, birthday, Father not present but I have a present; a box of shells and a gun.
Truth: There was nothing to shoot, but Myself.

As you’ll read later, it was almost used for it’s intended purpose, saved by the one I have written of previously only known to you as “Her” in my poems/rantings, "My Lady, in the Mist".
There was not much pondering needed to understand the message.

That my parents' sword did cut deep and on both edges.
It not only cut away any reference of the childhood that I could only reference in “Ozzie and Harriet” or “Leave it to Beaver”, but it destroyed the ones that survived from ever have any semblance of a family Thanksgiving Day meal together later in life.  I tried, but it was not and never will “Be”.

Healing is Not to be found just in the hugs from My Children!
I am to Give and not take. or be dependent on them for My value of Self

I have learned how to Love in spite of never knowing Love Myself, I created it in My Mind and hopefully I taught It to Them.

Who I am is Not to be found in the Eyes of a Lover as they unfold the layers inside of Me, startled to see the scars that are left that I hide from Them.

I am Not to believe the parents mantra,

“They’ll only know how stupid you are
if you open your mouth!”

Serving their purpose of shielding
them from society if ever known.

Never to make little of a Childs such Riddle,

I now know there is no Middle
to the Riddle.

This Child learned, there was power in killing the capacity within to Tear from the strikes put upon you, no longer able to cry being my only weapon to dispel the satisfaction the perpetrator sought in My tears and My terror, Yes, denying that which was sought from Me only brought on more cruelty seeking what I was able to deny. It made me stronger, yet even more isolated from the life I sought at that time.

But there is a price I paid for that, which could not be undone upon My command when helping to carry My friends coffin to her early grave, and not being unable to shed just one tear for Her, who I loved, or for Me, who I was trying to learn to love, to expel all of the pain of that Honor.

Today, I again have the Gift of Tears regained without warning at the age of 33 from seeing the sensitivity in the film “The Black Stallion”.
The Return of such a Precious Gift for my Soul, the capacity to weep at will when moved by Life!
Today I rejoice in My wet face as I witness a child reach with their hand for their parent’s hand to hold, rather than covering their face sensing the next strike.

I now feel My face become Wet when a I see Mother reaching down to move a hair from Her Childs forehead in route to another day of school. I now Sense Love in hearing a voice call to a child, rather than foretelling of pain to come.

To see all the beautiful ways Love is passed from a parent to a child, in spite of never having felt such yourself as the receiver, brings tears of joy that others do not know of what I missed, and what I have gained that they will ever sense.

The Gift of Healing?
Extracted by Myself from the Woods, Nature and the Sea that Healed This One’s Wounds,
Ever So Deep.

I am as a bird whose path was tossed to and fro by the fury of My Past Life’s Storm, I have made My Home, and it is where it has always been,
Within Me.

Thankful to have not perished, to not be physically or mentally disabled from the concussions, etc.

I Grin as I walk in the Forest, immerse in My Sea, under My Sun, shining even when the Sky is gray, and I’m alone!

A little of the Journey is found herein.
It is not for Every One, not even close!  Some parts of life may be best unsaid, unless you are one seeking a common thread to hold on too, a language only know to those that can hear it.

Understand from the onset of passing this page, this is NOT a novel of fiction, of tales told around a campfire or tear left in an empty glass of beer in a bar.

This is the naked truth of my journey to the point of wanting to let there be a record of just how dysfunctional one family unit was, yet the Governor of the State would come to dinner with that very same family.

The journey I hope indicates how one “child” can come out as someone that has value, to society, culture, technology, art and to those very few that have been granted access to My Heart and Soul.

So, if you are curious, and have the guts to witness it in words, let’s begin and see where my journey begins.