Countdown to LIE continues and a poem from HIGH SCHOOL/A Reflection from today

A POEM FROM HIGH SCHOOL and A REFLECTION FROM 2011

  



I am here,

And I'm lonely.
I live, eat and talk with you.You listen while reading the paper.
My tears are shrill, deafening.

Sitting on the toilet seat,

I cry them

into a raggedy towel. You bang on the locked door and
yell at me to get out.
I attempt to tell you my problems,

I know you have enough of your own

But I can help you too.

Tell me what you're feeling….I know. 
Alright.

I'll grow up.You turn your back to me,

reverting to the work stacked on the desk.My voice unhinges.You said you'd listen.I stop in the middle of reciting my poem;

you're not listening.
I know you have more important things to do.

You probably think I'm a fool.

(originally published in OPUS atNEW ROCHELLE HIGHS SCHOOL)                         

 --

 

I grew with a single parent, my
father.  He raised four kids alone.  My mother had a stroke that left her
brain damaged, paralyzed and hospitalized since I was four-and-a-half years
old.  When I was in high school I felt particularly desperate.  By then,  I was responsible for my three younger siblings, in charge
of the  housework and meals for my
family.   I wrote this poem in 11 grade.  My high
school literary magazine, Opus, at
New Rochelle High School published it.   This poem, never titled, made me realize that I could
channel my emotions, my raw loneliness, into writing.

All these years later, this poem still resonates for me.  How did my father react to it?  I don't think he did. 
He didn't read, or listen to, my poetry.  Will
he read my LIE, my debut novel?   I can't say for sure, but now I know, I am not a fool.
 I did the dishes, the laundry,
made dinner and wrote.  I grew up.  Writing shaped and defined me, carried
me through the worst times in my life, and the best. Though,  I have
to admit, I hope he reads LIE.   After all these years, I still want him to listen, to hear me,  to acknowledge me --  why?