Story of the Lopsided Boy
Born into a world with only one hand to hold
Delivered by eyes impassive to his existence
cold fingers brought no warmth to his welcome
While no strength held him high.
The yearning in his eyes hollowed with each year,
as that “deep voice” remained quiet
Still anxious to gasp that air around him.
Inhale the one that was should have
breathed in him the breath of manhood.
To fill the caverns in his mind.
But there was never no ritual of celebration
For his rite of passage never took place.
While the strangeness of life went unexplained.
He walked the hardened streets alone
Unprotected
Owning each step
Godless with no heart beat
Curious eyes began to watch
Observed his moves
Jealous if he had too much
Ridiculed if he had nothing at all.
Always a contradiction to this world
that shared his indifference.
Feared if he stepped out of his existence
Fearful if he stayed too long there.
But deep down his legs wobbled.
Never finding a steadiness to himself
and some days he just couldn’t stand tall.
He withered in the ambiguity.
Only to find solace in others with similar traits
lopsided and unbalanced.
each walking with a limp of their own,
Tripping over one another
with low hanging pants and untied footwear
Sullen eyes laden with mistrust & hopelessness
Bodies still chilled with the touch those first cold fingers,
who found no joy in their arrival.
each traumatized by their own missing “deep voice “.
Their faces blended into one another’s,
adorning the hooded attire
To hide the irate tears
Mourning a childhood interrupted
The angrier built each time his ball didn’t bounce.
The hoops became senseless.
The playgrounds had no ground to play.
and soon the sounds outside his world muffled.
Inconsequential and silence.
Turmoil mounded like an incomplete breath.
Suffocating and trapping him in his own black cavern,
That shone no light at the end.
The chaotic around him strangled his thoughts.
Dampening any sense of sanity
Still void of that “deep voice” to summon him from his darkness.
Then the gunshots blared
Each victim filled an impartial grudge against their invisible foe.
A bullet enflamed.
Only then he finally felt his tenderness,
a reason to stay
but his cries were too late,
as it ripped like an acidic blade.
Penetrating that heart that just began to beat,
only to feel fear.
More cold hands lifted his stiffen body,
with the ease of insignificance
chilled fingers wrapped his remains.
His name mispronounced,
while dropped to the cold welcoming ground
by strangers who hurried the event along
to the cascading stream of death.
A lone set of eyes filled with the tears of helplessness,
Heartbreak shadowed with the betrayal of relief.
as the one hand that held him reluctantly let go.
His soul finally still
rescued by Death
never feeling the true warmth of life
never hearing that “deep voice”
Never knowing to claim any man “father”.
Copyright © Nora Gibson | Year Posted 2024
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