If I could start my
life from scratch, would I change any of it? Like all the times I would watch
my mom get hit by one of her junkie boyfriends, or seeing a grown man sit on
top of an ice box with my little brother trapped in it- just pick up a knife
and start swingin it! Maybe so… cause it left a darkness deep down in my soul,
and for most of my life, I just haven’t known where to go with any of it. Just
sit with a pen and a pad because writing is so therapeutic; my heart and soul
is what you get with every line and In my mind I’m doing trapped in depth of
solidarity, the man in the mirror scary because I see the monster that I
become. I can’t help but feel like I’m a shoe in to ruin every positive thing
I’m doing because south goes every positive thing I’m pursuing. Feeling like
I’m set up to fail, my little brother trapped in a bipolar hell, and people ask
me if I’m well. Well let me see- broken home? Try a broken family: two’s
Rogers, one dead, and one’s in jail- just a father and a son trying to be a
father to a fatherless son. The same shit that I’ve done. They say the sins of
the father fall on the son, so what the hell has my biological father done? He
was in my life for three years and our relationship is done and I’m supposed to
pay for all the evil that he’s done? Half the time I feel like my demons have
already won, because they’ve been tearing at my soul since day one
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Confessions of a ex pseud-skeptic
Trapped and bound by
atheistic metaphysical claims- theological thoughts weight heavy on my brain.
Push me to the point of being almost mentally insane. Because cookie cutter
Christianity left me feeling like the Creator God had abandoned me with no solid
foundation in which to plant my feet. When the enemy came he swept me away in
defeat with cunning deceit and with no apologetic ammo to shoot back. It was
easy for me to fall for the enemy trap because he truly does come as an angel
of light with a smorgasbord of everything that you could possible like, and
Satan is a pro at what he do, he threw a thing at me from Muhammad, to David
Hume my faith was doomed for a minute religion could not get with it. Atheism-
I was in it- from Hitchens to Daniel Dennett, dealing with doubt, boxing it
out, fight with this pseudo age of reason that Kant turn out.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Mother
I remember being locked in my room for the meth filled days, and the fistfights fueled by the meth rage. Just me and my two brothers- not fearing monsters under the bed like other children, but the ones on the other side of our bedroom door. The horror of seeing the silhouettes of random humans beaming through your bedroom window while you try to sleep on the floor. Engraved in my head the time I walked through that the door, my mother wearing nothing but frown, tears flowing from her eyes with a sea of dollar bills covering the ground. No doubt from another night at the strip club. A reality I learned being locked in the car at night trying to sleep as she worked. I guess Patrick slapped her up again, but this guy is not my mother’s version of a man; she tells me as a guy to a woman I should never raise my hand. But yet my mother played the role of punching bag to random men.
I and my brothers were adopted but left scarred from physical and mental abuse. I was anxious knowing that someone who looks just like me was out there as an addict living on the street. Rage engulfed my soul because of what she allowed us to go through. So now at 26, I stand outside a Mexican restaurant with her asking me to put five bucks in her hand. I get mad cause she’s high, telling me how much she wants me around; my eyes glaring at the ground, while she’s tweaked out bouncing around… Then I hear the words ring out piercing my ears, “Come on, be a pal,” at this point, I a
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