was the best thing my step-father could have ever called me. to me, that means that he has finally come to terms that he is not my father. it is a cursed bond that we both share and yet, it is the very thing that tears us apart.
hate is a strong word. a word that should never be taken or said lightly. it is a word that can cut leaving one to bleed their soul. if love is pure and clean, hate is its polar opposite. hate is the color of Satin's blood taste of his sorrow. hate is a word that no man should ever have to say or hear. thus, i hate my stepfather. i've said it before without fully understanding the intensity of the word. now that i do, i can say it with ease. Herbert James Moore II, husband of Cynthia Denise Moore, i hate you.
in my younger years, i used to cry to my mother and her husband that i could never do anything to keep them happy. i could never please them. if ever this statement rang true, it showed today.
supposedly, the reason for our previous meetings with the shrink was that the elder Moores had grown overly frustrated with me not being enrolled in school and not having a job. my slight (2 month) downtime had caused such turmoil within this house that a professional third party was needed. now, i have a job. i am enrolled in school. one would think that all would subside. i did. i got my hopes up like i know not to.
i fuck everything up. thats what he told me. that was the cut that forced me to stab.
words are weapons. some use swords, some use guns, some use other untraditional weapons.
he uses a gun. the sudden bang of emotion is at first frightening and causes many to run. those who are used to it remain standing, though they are usually the target. once the bullet is released and hits its target the pain is immediate. my response is anger, more words.
i prefer poison. letting my words seep into my enemy's skin, not causing any instant or visible pain. but once the door is closed and one has time passed, my poison begins to work. it eats at the soul and causes internal and longer lasting pain.
i am a smarter fighter than he is.
i'm beginning to feel helpless.
i cant do shit right here
and i cant help my girlfriend in mississippi. her battles call for more than poison but i cant lend her my loaded gun for i cant even see her.
we help each other, she and i. that is how we survive. i wipe her tears and she holds me. i depend on her to ease my rage and she does a wonderful job as my mother never could.
they say its wrong for a woman to have to choose between her spouse and her child.
i agree, she should always choose the being she conceived. but im only 19, what the fuck do i know about being a wife/mother torn? nothing. i do know what its like being a son stranded, searching for love between the legs of any attractive female. i know whats it like to be a child with more bottled up emotion than the VT killers. i know what its like to be a dying human with no refuge or person to turn to.
i know of that life
and i have gotten my hopes up expecting another life soon.
maybe this woman can show me the love my mother neglected to. maybe i can turn myself into a man without the hindering tactics of her husband.
like most bastard children...what other choice do i have?
