Feelings of guiltMature

Feelings of guilt

My dad was now 56,

And I considered with sadness,

How dad was slowly growing older,

And started to feel guilty,

About all these lies and secrets.


India was homophobic,

And there was nothing,

Either I or anyone else,

Could do about that,

Yet it was precisely this,

That had caused all my problems.


I longed to tell,

My dad and stepmother,

Some of the truth at least,

As far as their society,

Permitted me to tell them.


Yet I hesitated,

For guilt had led me,

To confess before,

And all had gone wrong,

Leading me,

To reluctantly undo,

All that I had said.


After what occured,

When I was fourteen,

Would my dad believe,

I used to be a cutter,

Without solid evidence?


Besides I would never allow,

The past to be forgotten completely,

The past was part of my history,

So taking advantage,

Of a small argument,

I ripped a deep cut,

Further up my arm.


I ran the cold water tap,

Washing away the blood,

Yet this one was too deep,

I closed the tap,

And let my sleeve fall.


I struggled out,

Of my mom's embrace,

The bood was rising,

On the cut,

And I needed,

To sort it out.


I placed a plaster,

Over my wound,

And when it healed,

A noticeable mark there was.


A sense of satisfaction,

Did I have,

For now at some point,

I would have to tell dad,

And dad would not,

Grow old and die,

Without knowing,

At least some of the truth.


It also proved,

That the past had happened,

Though I admit,

It was senseless to resent,

My mom, aunt and gran,

Actimg normally,

When I had concealed,

All my self destruction.

The End

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