Glenn Jr Marchand Poet I do not know?

Cathartic

I tried to love her.
I so was anxious to love her.
A child can endure such abuse.
I have finally broken the noose.
 
She was unto a monster;
But a child’s eyes are naïve—
Even the bitterness of abuse seems 
Sweet in the eyes of a youngster.
 
O’ how a child yearns for affection—
Only to be mistreated unto dejection.
A child can easily become infected—
Ruined and wretched by adolescence.
 
I tried to love her.
I was so anxious to love her.
A child can endure such abuse.
I have finally broken the noose.
 
My eyes water as I introspect.
Within me are splinters I must disinfect.
I have prayed to breathe—
I have prayed to break free of her disease.
 
I have finally broken the noose;
But it is difficult to completely break loose.
Agonizing remnants pierce the heart—
As I ponder of abuse, my poetic art.
 
If not for abuse, would I be art?
If not for abuse, would I possess this spark?
Should I despise mother? 
Am I not a poet? 
 
O’ how a child yearns for affection—
Only to be mistreated unto dejection.
A child can easily be infected—
Ruined and wretched by adolescence.
 
I cry for mother. My eyes ache for mother.
I want so much to love for mother. I am 
Confused, a reborn child abused. But I 
Love Mother, she is my poetic dam. 
 
 
Naive

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