“I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks,
the wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips aglow in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don’t do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips, like chips of flint, as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.”
9 comments
My story goes back to ’87 even though I was born in ’93. I like to think my birth had meaning, but over time I’ve realised it was definitely “spur of the moment.” I harbour deep regret about ever being conceived, although obviously I was powerless to do anything. I couldn’t imagine a child of my own having this sort of regret towards me, makes me kind of glad I won’t ever have to deal with it.
I wouldn’t dare attempt to ask your reasoning for this notion of yours and maybe I’ve got this all wrong, but you’re here now, so make the most of it.
Interesting how supposedly the greatest moment in life (birth) can end up being the most excruciating experience imaginable. Thank you for sharing.
Divines smile on you, friend.
This poem struck a chord with me, its naked vulnerability and honesty raw and heartfelt. I don’t understand how a person could regret being born, that’s like if a person regretted dying. It’s completely beyond a person’s control -infact you’re not even aware of it at the time- , so how could you have remorse over it? One could say they despise being born, but regret?
Bringing a child into this world is a truly selfish act. Bringing something into this world for it to be exposed to the atrocities and negligence that exists just for the sake of your own desire for a child is the a quintessential act of disregard for another human being, regardless if they’re a product of yourself.
My birth doesn’t hold much significance, neither does my present existence. My birth was a classic fruition of the common parent. I think much of it relies on subconscious primal instincts that reside in humans and the cultural indoctrination that bearing a child is an essential part of a fulfilled lifestyle.
May your road lead you to warm sands 😉
This is true, despise seems more appropriate. Well, for me personally I’d always wanted children. I used to have a good job and was going places, and felt secure in bringing another person into this world. After the about face I experienced, it seems wholly unlikely anything of the sort will ever come to light.
For me, a night of too much booze and a certain Marvin Gaye song led to my creation, as told by my own mother. She never expressed what she felt at my birth however. I may be 20, but I’ve lived a good life and now that I’m back at square one, I appreciate it even more.
I used to be a pragmatist like you, but then I took an arrow to the knee.
I’ve always had a fervent distaste for children to be honest haha. They’re so annoying. I have low tolerance and patience for simplemindedness. “mom, did you know that a towel gets wet after you put it in water” (actual words from my 4 year old half brother) well no shit you dumbass, go get a job 😛
I don’t mind their simplemindedness, it’s when they talk to their “imaginary” friends that gets me all rustled and stuff. My lil’ cousin at the age of three could have an intelligible conversation with her friend “Polly” and convey it straight back to me. Some real Child of the Corn shit if you ask me.
Has anyone else here experienced Skyrim? I count you and 66.44 as the only others.
I’ll probably always remember that poem from the first place I heard it, and associate it with:
“He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight.â€
@RogueLonesome – I think it’s “Divines smile upon you, friend” And yeah, I’m seriously playing Skyrim this very second, I’m shouting at guards in Windhelm. And I’m wandering why I ever joined the Imperial Legion lol.
Ah, yes a thousand apologies.
I’ve already dealt to Ulfric, he got frozen in this “on your knees, back arched, clenched and most wanting buttocks” pose when I killed him. It was glorious. My character hails from Cyrodil so the Legion was an obvious choice.
Now I’m just roaming Skyrim, destroying shit with Serana, she’s a babe haha.
great poem
powerful and vivid
I can taste the sepia