Why did I say it?
What was this power it had over me,
those words of castigation,
impassioned by a weary, immature, and overstimulated mind.
"Why me?"
It held sway.
Evoked, without permission,
it came often to my lips,
turning calm days into harsh oppressions,
happy moments into hours of blaming, envy, and self-recriminations.
Leeching from the depths of me,
emptying myself of every satisfaction.
Those days became the longest day—
drawn out, bled out,
physically exhausting,
and deeply soul-draining.
It was like losing part of myself.
When I said it, I felt completely alone,
Misunderstood, disregarded, always angry,
Murmuring vague obscenities,
not then understanding their source.
Melancholy — what a cruel teacher.
It shadowed everything,
warping self-perception,
twisting what should have been growth into something uncertain,
mocking every attempt at confidence.
Puberty—the master of deception.
Turning admiration into obsession,
desire into self-loathing,
reality into a distorted mirror of what I thought I was supposed to be.
Mania. Self-abuse. Confusion.
I always felt deflated — later on,
In my dubious integrity.
Hormones are merciless,
Emotions, unpredictable.
Thoughts, untethered,
The body — traitorous.
It changed everything.
For me, and most—but not those privileged few,
who grew instantaneous, already perfected—
untouched by the storm, while we stood exposed.
The deep weeping of my soul,
like a child locked out in the cold,
estranged and miserable,
rejected by those I desired contact with most,
or only imagined, never endeavored.
The eyes of that child did not see reality,
only the emotions behind it all.
Selfish, in the way most children can be,
and some adults will always be.
Why did I say it?
Back then I knew why.
Today, I am no longer that person.
"Why me?"
I don't know why.
Copyright June 2025 M. W. Van Dyke
All Rights Reserved
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