Blood Don’t Mean Family

It is a sad thing when your in-laws feel more like family than do your own parents. To be honest, I don’t care what my parent’s reasons are for refusing to support me when I needed them most. In the past, I have made my fair share of mistakes. My confusion stems from the thought of unconditional love. Isn’t family supposed to stick with you through the highs and the lows? Just because times get tough doesn’t mean you have right to leave someone stranded.

One good thing that came from my correspondence with my parents is that I learned who I can count on and who I can’t. Whenever I need advice or someone to lean on my in-laws are present. It doesn’t matter that we have different skin tones or backgrounds. All my in-laws want for me is the best. I can’t say the same in regards to my own parents. History has proven whenever things get difficult they give up. That is what they did with Trey and Kyle (adopting them both as children and later placing them back in foster care).

Individuals who suffer from mental illnesses need to be shown unconditional love and support. Usually two things happen when someone admits to their family they are sick. The first option is for their family to dismiss the mental illness, belittle the person, and act like the individual suffering from the mental illness is overreacting. The second options if for the family to take the mental illness seriously and to support their child to the fullest extent. My own parents have chosen to take the douchebag route.

At this point in my life I don’t have many options. All I can do is try to fulfill my potential. I teach business professionals English. In my spare time I write poetry/music. My dream is to be signed to a record label as a songwriter but that is just a children’s dream. While most days are bearable some aren’t. An ordinary day is much more than what people perceive as being an easy day.

Everyday is another day,
When I have to convey,
My life isn’t Childs Play,

I could write an essay,
Commentators would have a field day,
Accusing me of foul play,
When in fact; I asked God for one good day,

It isn’t even mid-day,
And the reflections are demanding me to Obey,
Singing to Reggae,
Writing the ending to my screenplay,

One of them loves cabaret,
Wishing she would fade away,

Everytime she appears it feels like Judgement Day,
We perform the Passion Play,
My insides carved out as if it is Columbus Day,

Sitting in my office trying to be productive,
From the corner of my eye I catch her trying to be seductive,
When in fact she’s being destructive,
Causing me to be counter-productive,

Gripping the back of a chair stripping,
Clicking her heels and biting her bottom lip,
Wish I was only kidding,
It would be so easy to admit to quitting,

I can’t though, I gotta’ continue to fight and write,
Inciting riots and typewriting,
Smiling like a Titan waiting for Tyson’s shadow,

Told it is only science, they aren’t real,
Why don’t you tell that to the clown in the corner,
Holding a knife ready to slice off Vincent’s ear,

At the end of the day, the only healing for me is a bit exotic,
Watching her dance a bit hypnotic,
Psychotic yes, demonic maybe, poetic definitely,


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