Since the day I drew my first breath,
They marked me wrong, they marked me less.
Not joy, not pride, no tender hand,
Just questions whispered I’d never withstand.
“What’s wrong with him?” they’d softly say,
While turning their eyes the other way.
No cradle song, no gentle cheer,
Just silence louder year by year.
A child of mischief, branded flawed,
But never once did they see they were frauds.
For scars don’t form in a vacuum’s air,
They come from those who should’ve cared.
Don’t bring a child if regret will reign,
If love is hollow and trust is feigned.
That’s the question I never asked,
But lived in shadows too deep, too vast.
They used me young, they used me grown,
To watch their children, to guard their home.
An aunt who smiled while keeping score,
But left me drained, needing more.
Even in age, when years grew cold,
I carried burdens not my own.
A grandmother frail, her weight was mine,
While they vacationed, I still toed the line.
And friends — if that’s what they should be called —
Were only bricks in a crumbling wall.
They laughed in corners, cracked their jokes,
Each fiery barb a scar it spoke.
No loyalty stood, no anchor tied,
No hand that reached when I had cried.
The ones I thought were truly near,
Just vanished fast when storms drew near.
No hand reached out when nights grew long,
No shoulder there to make me strong.
They watched me drown, they turned their face,
Yet mocked my scars with cold disgrace.
But what a world, so cracked, so bare,
Where hearts grow cold and few still care.
Is it just me, or is this fate?
A planet consumed by love turned hate.
If truth be told, it cuts me still,
The boy who longed for something real.
Ignored, dismissed, betrayed, misused,
Left with a heart so often bruised.
And yet I rise, though scarred, though torn,
I’ve lived through fire since the morn.
If family fails, if friends are fake,
Then I’ll be the man their shadows make.
A sad world, yes, but mine to face,
A wounded child in a grown man’s place.
And through the tears, through hurt so sure,
I walk alone — but I endure.
Honored to Be Nominated — Spillwords Author of the Month
I’m honored to share that I’ve been nominated for Spillwords Author of the Month for September. 🙏 Your support means the world — every vote makes a difference. You can cast your vote here: https://spillwords.com/vote/
Thank you for standing with my words and this journey. ✍️🔥
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Thanks for sharing, John. You have my vote by the way, it is already registered.
Thank you very much, Chris — I really appreciate that. 🙏 Your support means a lot, and I’m grateful for your vote as well. Sorry for the late reply, it’s been a busy day.
You’re welcome for the vote. I completely understand how things can get very busy in a hurry. Even if there are replies that you can’t get to…no worries, please.
God bless…
There were times when I felt that way, John.
I hear you, Michael — it’s a heavy place to be. Writing it was a way of putting those scars into words, because too many of us have carried that same weight in silence. I truly appreciate you sharing that with me. Have a blessed day. 🙏😎
This is an incredibly powerful and deeply moving piece—raw, unflinching, and honest in its portrayal of pain, neglect, and resilience. The way you’ve carried the reader through the arc of rejection, betrayal, and loneliness into the quiet strength of endurance is nothing short of remarkable.
Lines like “Scars don’t form in a vacuum’s air, / They come from those who should’ve cared” strike with profound truth and stay etched in the heart long after reading. It’s not just a poem—it’s a testimony, a voice for all those who have endured similar silences and wounds.
Thank you so much — that means a lot. This one came from a very real place, and I’m grateful it connected with you in the way it did. You’re right, it’s more than a poem — it’s truth lived and scars carried. 🙏😎