Broken Thread

I was born for something – only, I can’t remember.

When I was born, I was yanked from my mother too harshly.

In a way, this crippled me.

Not so the average person can see – but so that I couldn’t perform naturally, and other kids could label me as a freak.

They could ostracize me.

I mean, I couldn’t even jump more than a foot in those PE tests they gave us when I was a fledgling – I couldn’t get my legs to work properly under me until I was in my teens!

I wanted to scream at adults and children, alike, “Can’t you see that something has happened to me?!”

As I grew from infancy through childhood, I kept having head trauma from other people’s rough handling of me and my own tripping falls.

Impact against concrete conglomerate became pain’s chastizing message of obligatory duty to submit.

“Thou shalt not remember. Though shalt live a meaningless life and perish in obscurity like the rest of these cattle.”

It’s not that my ego minds so much that the world doesn’t know me, but that this severe migraine in my neck tells me something is off from what it should be..

The drive in my spirit ever pushing to keep moving, keep achieving – keep transcending beyond whatever I’ve recently learned – is blocked in its channeling, pounding at the door to my awareness.

Impulse is a part of my design – something that few others posses in their natural, daily functioning.

Therefore, I AM Unique – I was meant to be Something MORE.

If only I could repair the damage, I wouldn’t be stumbling forward – blindly.