Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

An admission of guilt

My childhood was no utopia.
Apparently, I was evil.
My brother once hated me.

And I grew up to hate me too.

I grew up with a poets mind.
I was always,
Feeling ways about stuff,
Because I felt old enough to do so.

I think of the horror
And it throws my sympathomimetic hormone
Into rapid overdrive,
My digitalis of living.
That was purely accidental.

No one could have predicted that,
Or pronounced it.

But I was once too young
To be so angry and hateful,

And I'm sorry I was anyway.

May 13, 2005

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An admission of guilt

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