Literature
Erosion
The sky turns shades of pink, As I watch morning slowly arrive. The bus rattles and I think of you, The father who fell from on high. Like King David was angry, Yet did nothing for Tamar's grief, So you too still let a son stay, Who stole innocence like a thief. Yet who I am is your greatest affliction, Your shame and mourning wrapped into one. A greater indignity than his endless sin, Is the child you refuse to call a son. You say you mean no harm, While your tongue continues on; Saying things that only upset, As you sit up alone at dawn. When they dig up my bones, I don't care what they think. Who I am isn't chromosomes, Or what's written in hatred and ink. Your prayers mean nothing, When all your hands do is hurt. Who's to say I was created wrong, And that what you say is all I'm worth? You talk of children and atrocities, Hip bones, chemicals and doctors. Like you know me better than myself, Simply pushing me to farther shores. Is it worth it to cling to you, When