My point is provenMature

My point is proven

I had noticed over time,

That I had become,

Less tolerant,

Of my aunt and grandmother.

 

Especially following,

My first India visit,

I could not walk,

Into my grandmother's house,

Without thinking of,

My stepmother's flat.

 

This was a feeling,

I admit I encouraged,

To prove to myself,

To God and to the world,

That had circumstances been different,

My dad and stepfamily,

They would have been,

My first choice.

 

I definitely remember,

Placing my hands

On the blue storage boxes,

Containing my cousin's toys,

Gripping them tight,

As tears filled my eyes,

And apparently this made me,

A spoilt teenager,

With psychological problems.

 

One night I couldn't sleep,

And lay awake,

Looking at the full moon,

And naturally my gran,

Asleep in the same room,

Noticed nothing.

 

The following day,

A headache did I have,

And secretly took Wicks,

And told Gabriel,

The truth about the headache,

Though he was just six.

 

In the car,

On a social visit,

I blocked out reality,

Imagining my dad,

In my aunt's place,

My stepmother in my gran's,

Semanti in Gabriel's place,

And us all playing word endings.

 

My dislike of,

Going out with them,

Caused tears to rise,

Though I swallowed them down,

Not wishing of course,

To be accused of self pity,

Though I paid the price,

with an aching throat.

 

Still, all this proved,

I was more attuned,

To my dad and stepfamily,

And I was right,

Not to stay at Gran's alone.

The End

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