What Am I Supposed to Do? (20.01.2018)

What is one supposed to do,
when at five years old
he discovered his dick
and how much fun
it can be?

What is one supposed to do,
when at ten, thirteen, sixteen
he doesn’t understand
that his dick isn’t for
all to see?

What is one supposed to do,
when at nine, seventeen, twenty-one
the only way to release
all that’s inside of him is
inside of me?

What is one supposed to do,
when there is no one to blame
for the wiring in his brain
is so damn
faulty?

What is one supposed to do,
when you were given life
by the same love who did
their best to raise a
happy family?

What is one supposed to do,
when it’s the nameless folk
strangled in white lab coats
who are the only ones
to believe me?

What am I supposed to do?
For it didn’t stop there. My blood
was not the only one.

I trudge through each day
being swallowed whole
by a burdensome darkness
masked by self-pity.

The medication keeps me
alive, but the therapy so many
insist upon has betrayed me,
so alone I cry.

Each morning holds a promise
that diminishes with each hour
as the sadness tightens and I
miss my change to be free.

But still, I
sleep
eat
learn
teach
walk
laugh
weep.

I focus on the small joys of
my students, my peers
all the wonders of the world
that I have yet
to see.

Nevertheless, with the passing
of each moon, I cannot help
but mourn the lost place
my intelligent spirit could have held
in history.

Mourning the woman I could
have been, that could still be
if not trapped under the burden
of baggage far too heavy, of being
labeled crazy.

What am I supposed to do,
when I am out of the strength
and the resources I yearn
questioning whether or not I
have the right to be happy?

What am I supposed to do?
Anyone?
Please?

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