Growing Pains

I’ve never quite forgiven my
my parents for the way they treated me when
I was young. The abuse they called discipline and
the discipline they called love was not an easy lesson for me
to learn. I built a wall around my heart to protect myself from
the harshness of their blows and from the sting of painful words.
And with each fresh insult they added to injury, the wall became
higher and wider, until the blows no longer left me in despair,
and their words became fuel for resentment and anger
instead of remorse. Had they shown me kindness and
understanding instead of cold, resolute fury,
maybe I would have listened with an open ear
untainted by fear and distrust;
maybe I would have heard
the voice of my own heart
locked within its cage.
But I was a
crooked tree
they had to
by pruning
its branches
and peeling
its bark until
I was pruned
and peeled
too many
times to feel
the gentler
rain of their
love and regret.

14 thoughts on “Growing Pains

  1. THAT is so bloody clever. It’s like e.e.cummings and his experiments with visual poetry on the page. Wonderful.

  2. I like the crooked tree metaphor — it gives a flavor for what they thought they were doing. And it’s an interesting thing to objectify a tree which though wild grows and moves very slowly and finds it hard to escape.

    1. You understand so well the meaning I was trying to convey. πŸ™‚

  3. That was exceptional. Stubbs

  4. So beautiful and raw and piercing. Loved it.

  5. Love it Cubby! I can so relate to the words. Each time I read your poems, I feel most of it portray my life!

    1. It is amazing how similar people’s experiences can be regardless of location and situation. I hope you can relate to some of the happier poems too if you read them. πŸ™‚

      1. I think I should too.. Been on a low blow for a very long time… for a change I actually wrote a happy poem today and was amazed at myself but Thank you πŸ™‚

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