poem, poetry, Uncategorized


I used to never want children.

I grew up in a home that housed tornadoes.

Where yelling was the norm and the storms

would cause chaos every single day.

My father,

Never stayed around.

My tears

created oceans at my mother’s feet as she made sure we wouldn’t drown.

I had nightmares.

My demons were real and I had to face them longer than expected.

You know,

The light could vanish them, but when the parents aren’t around it’s hard to see that son (sun) rise.

And mine…

Mine were never there.

This is when I became afraid.

No, I didn’t fear being alone,

I feared being surrounded by people who would make me feel lonely.

So I skipped crawling,

And walking,

And went straight to running away from everything that made me feel loved.

Pain eating its way through my flesh,

Meshed with bad choices and anger issues.

Tissues piling up in the confinement of my bedroom because we all know that men. don’t. cry.

At least that’s what I was taught.

I thought keeping to myself made me strong

But I was wrong.

I, was wrong.

I can admit that now.

Because back then

I had no issues, no problems, and could handle things on my own.

Grown, is what I pretended to be.

I pretended.

I told myself that No child should have his heart ripped out

at such a young age.

Stage fright ate away at my tongue every time someone asked me

what was wrong.

I guess,

I didn’t understand how one could have a burning sensation in their chest

that hurt so bad and yet,

still somehow felt good.

So I used to stay up at night as if the answers to my questions were in between the blades of my ceiling fan.

Until One day, I actually found them.

My whole life I’ve been bent but never broken.

Everything I believed in often slipped through my fingers like grains of sand.

And as a man it is sometimes hard to understand.

How I,

am Forever looked down on as someone who isn’t good enough.

It’s tough

Because When it came to my dreams I always aimed too high

so I stopped shooting for the stars and looking up to the sky.

I mean,

It’s hard to look up when I’m constantly bowing my head to thank

God that I’m still alive.

If the way I look leaves a lasting impression

and the color of my skin becomes society’s obsession then I guess

I will never fit in.

As I shoot each recreational slug

of creativity into my blood

And leave the streets painted red.

The streets are painted red….

And There lied the answers.

In the middle of the streets, lined with the scars of everyone

I’ve ever come across.

In this life,

Things rarely go our way.

If you stand in the middle of the road, with no regard to the obstacles that are rushing towards you,

It will be impossible to recover from the pain that is inflicted.

We are not mutants, and I am not Wolverine.

My scars won’t heal unless I finally step out of that road.

I told

you that I used to never want


That was before.

Now, I can’t wait to have a son of my own and watch as he’s raised to be brighter than I could’ve ever imagined.


                   By Tevin J. Reese

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