Bastard
A baby’s tears first sprout from the catalyst of being
Being isn't enough to quell the pain it brings, not even upon suckling the
milk from its mothers teat does the baby sleep
After crying, crawling, walking, and speaking comes the first true lesson
The Crown of Disappointment is set upon after hearing those words
You have your name and you are a bastard
You were a burden
This can never be changed
Labels will follow you as they follow everyone in this world
Some are black, queer, white, dogs, cats, ghetto, rich, redneck, inclusive,
or separatist
To be in this country is to play a role defined by an abstract color that
doesn’t match any natural skin tone. The world is against you, the individual, who is defined by parentage
Upon constructing this bellowing thought, your parents have lost their baby, their child, their star child wonderer, their glowing miracle, their prince or princess
The bastard has ambition with roots so deeply ingrained into the mess of dirt far below that of any conceivable length from which the heat at the earth’s core becomes a dear miserable friend
The heat from below is a hell pit to most, but the bastard is one that relates to no one, not even another bastard in the world of cold sorrows that know what they know the most
Once climbing to every occasion with great wit and a temper, with tactful strength and a whimper, yet no common knowledge of where it shall lead
Sleeping is an escape, but the dreams never trick or shake that very notion, that so heavy weight, that the Crown on your head continues to place
Breaking the cycle is by no means to marry, but to become parents that care for their children
This can never be changed
You may share a last name of your father or mother, or perhaps the name of both, one day
But the truth will be told to you by someone who seems as though they care, yet instead they bear witness to the worst of you as an heir
These words are only as true as the bastard allows them to be
The Crown of Disappointment is a crown with many shapes, sigils, and
meanings
If not for the bastard, then for skin, or for scars, perhaps due to sin, or
maybe postpartum set in
After all of the crying, the crawling, the walking, and speaking comes many lessons
The first is beyond the bastard’s control
The rest are up to the bastard
The bastard can be the strongest of all
For without a dark history, or perhaps one just landing outside of the box
A bastard doesn’t have to climb far before turning back, discovering that
they have risen to the very tip top of the iciest blocks
That heat inside settled by the core, warms them, helping them to continue doing more
Until they may lose sight and become what they had so vehemently despised
But that is a tale that fits many, hiding in plain sight, with no need for a
disguise
Breaking the cycle is to play the game, playing the game is to lose without
aim
A new baby is born from the sins of the father and that of the mother
The truth will be known to you and because you do truly care, you keep it
inside for no one to bear witness, so that history may grow for the betterment of your heir
A baby’s tears first sprout from the catalyst of being
Being isn’t enough
You have your name
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