Untitled poem.

I wrote this in 2006. It had been about 22 months since my biological father died of an overdose of oxycontin, 21 months since my paternal grandmother died of natural causes, 18 months since one of my oldest and dearest friends succumbed to AIDS-related illness and 17 and 1/2 months since my great-grandmother passed away. I had been through 3 moves. Floating homeless and sleeping in my car. And then finally landed in Austin, and was in my third residence in the city.  

I am self-absorbed.
I am an introvert.
Gotta stay on my tiptoes.
Wary of the eggshells...
always...
Wary of the eggshells.

I've had vacations.
Tropical paradise.
Floating in the water,
on hot, summer nights.

Flip. Switch. Back.

All the things I've left undone.
All the things I can't remember.
All the things I want to forget...
taking turn to ridicule.
My back against the brick at recess.
The stares.
The names.

They say to laugh it off...
(because it's oh so funny).
They tell you it will stop if you ignore...
(and it hurts so much, that for a time you believe with all your heart).

But, it never stops.

You grow older,
and you are still on the outside...
peekin' in.

Survival is-
juggling flaming torches
on a unicycle...
balanced on a tightrope
above a shark tank-
whistling Dixie.