Blade Buried at Seven


Entering a kitchen a decade and a half ago

Witless, a kid, scolded for stupid reasons

An adult should’ve known better

To never let a young one feel dejected

He exited the gray room with a hole in his chest

Her eyes stabbed him like a greasy dagger


A couple of years past he recalls

They’re juxtaposed by his idea of their worth

His hands touched the bottom of his shoe

Placed in the center of ridicule and insults

He learned not to keep rotten photos

He learned not to eat their dirty words

He kept his foot still, he showered with shit


Adolescence is a tad bit kind

Credit was given, applause was amplified

He built foundations where love was abundant

He gained perspective from a spectrum of emotions

Of course, that’s more than enough to reap respect

It’s funny though, he remains a moving target


He was in gratitude, he accomplished something

He’s been inspired by ideas and people

His principles intact and cynicism at minimum

He fell and got up with his strengths and weaknesses

He molded his heart until it’s cushy and empty

He loved quickly and disconnect easily


Who shall be blamed for his dysfunctional disposition?

He turned his miseries into blades that cut his kindness into pieces

The little goose should’ve never had its neck wringed

The whale should not be bred at amusement parks

What did he learn from those who cut his toes

when he was just starting to glue his bones?


Loneliness is company

Love is a leftover at Christmas parties

Smile is strength masking pain and later on indifference

Help can only be found in independence

Bruises are moral dictators

Medals are stolen if not worn by their closest kin



A dove carries a four-inch knife 10 feet above ground

It approaches a baby lying on the grassy ground

Chirps and bubbly shrieks play like bass and electric

It flies away, the baby left with a standing three-inch silver in the forehead

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