Poem: Rising Son

This week’s poem was a collaborative effort between myself and a friend who wishes to remain anonymous; let’s call him Muhammad. The quote is from Eugene Debs, an influential American socialist.

Rising Son

Born from your love,

second to none.

A house untouched by hate, by anger,

a world none could disrupt.

But you didn’t  want me.

When the other parents asked “Is that your kid?”

you always confirmed.

Whether you liked it or not,

I was yours.

When I was shit at sports, and other parents cringed,

you too cringed and awkwardly smiled.

When the other kids yelled at me, and shouted “You suck!”

you just told me to look away, and we left.

When I tried to draw, and couldn’t do more than stick figures,

you seemed annoyed.

But you showed nothing, nothing but that look

of old disappointment on your graying face.

I could see it in your damned eyes; you didn’t want me.

So you gave up on me, didn’t believe in me,

couldn’t even see me.

So I promised to myself, swore on every inch of humanity I had

that I would prove you wrong.

I worked my hands to the bone,

my mind to dust.

All just so I could know

that you were wrong.

I made each grade seem easier

than the last.

Every test, every assignment, each piece of homework

was just paper to me.

And no matter how much you didn’t want me,

no matter how much you wanted not to care,

I was still your son.