37

-

37 years ago I met my mother for the first

and

last time.


I don't recall this. I can't recall this.

But I know my body remembers it

the trauma of being separated

from the woman that gave birth to me.


37 years ago, the last time I saw my mother

and

I don't know if I even met my father. 

I doubt it.


37 years.

Gone 

without knowing my kin.

Will I know them again?

Can I?


The first 34 of those years, strange people bought me

and

lied to me

said they were my blood.


34 years, two strangers gaslit me.



They were strangers to the boy that was separated from his mother.

They were strangers to the boy who grew up wondering why he never fit.

They were strangers to the boy that questioned why he could never bond with his so-called kin.

They were strangers to the boy who stared into the mirror and wondered why his own reflection was strange to him.

They were strangers to the boy who didn't understand why his own reflection did not reflect the person they told him he was.

They were strangers to the boy who knew the identity that was given to him did not match with the identity he felt inside.

They were strangers to the boy who thought he was the crazy one for all his thoughts.


For 34 years, my body knew something was off. 

Something was different.

It was not fair. And it was never right that I was lied to.



~Kris~

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