The Little Boy's Saga

[BLueRibbon]

Although they are written in first person, these poems are not intended to be autobiographical

5 years old

I woke up at 6,
Full of excitement,
Trundled down the warm and fluffy stairs.
I darted for the kitchen,
Curious of the smell,
Stared wide-eyed at the stove towering above,
What was mom cooking?
Her face lit up with a smile,
An anticipation of my response,
She told me it was bacon.

But what about the cartoons?!
I ran to the living room,
Climbed up onto our gigantic sofa,
Picked up the big and heavy remote,
Entered the number with great concentration,
Yay! My favorite show was on!

I sat there entranced,
Easily pleased,
An hour would feel like a day.

Mom called "breakfast!"
I ran to the kitchen,
It smelled of bacon, coffee, and newspapers.
Dad's plate was piled high,
I didn't know why he liked that bitter brown bread.

Mom and Dad talked about what to do,
It was a Saturday so we had to do something!
But why couldn't they let me make some decisions?
I couldn't wait to be a grown-up.

[BLueRibbon]

Although they are written in first person, these poems are not intended to be autobiographical

13 years old

Excitement fading,
School is exhausting,
A feeling of pointlessness creeps in.

Parents and teachers,
Whom I thought to be gods,
Know little and care less.

My dream of being a star,
Encouraged when I was little,
Seems so far out of reach.

Friends chase girls,
Girls chase friends,
I cannot fathom why.

So I sit and study,
"For the future",
While they play their silly games.

[BLueRibbon]

Although they are written in first person, these poems are not intended to be autobiographical

16 years old

As others move on,
I am left behind.
Relationships blossom,
While I sit and watch.
The future they have,
Will never be mine.

But the stories I read,
They don't describe me,
Is that truly my destiny?

Look online,
Find no real help,
But plenty of hate.

Hopelessness overwhelms,
Fear kicks in,
When will they knock?

[BLueRibbon]

Although they are written in first person, these poems are not intended to be autobiographical

25 years old

A steady job,
A comfortable home,
And a fairly nice car.

Nobody knows,
Nobody asks,
Relative calm.

I cook a nice meal,
Sip on my wine,
And watch TV.

But something is missing,
The emptiness consumes,
And it's always there.

[BLueRibbon]

Although they are written in first person, these poems are not intended to be autobiographical

30 years old

Relaxing in my warm and comfy bed,
A Sunday morning,
I begin to stir.

A hot cup of coffee,
Or an extra 30 minutes?
A lovely dilemma.

The door bursts open,
Police storm in,
The day I've been dreading for years.

My chest pounds,
As pigs scream,
This can't be real.

My house is torn apart,
A scene of pure chaos,
Over a few nudist vids.

The neighbors learn,
Throw eggs at my window,
Spray slurs on my door.

Devices gone,
I sit and wait,
An anxious mess.

[CLover36]

Am I allowed to comment here?

[BLueRibbon]

Of course you're allowed to comment.

However, note that the series of poems is not complete. It's going to get incredibly dark soon.

[WavesInEternity]

I like it, mostly the latter half. I can see how it's likely to get really dark... my own life has been torturous enough. I've also been exploring the subjective experience of being a MAP through poems and literature. I'll probably post some here in due time.

[BLueRibbon]

This content is hidden by a spoiler as it may be distressing.

31 years old

Spoiler!

The past year was pure hell,
Night after night with no sleep,
Screaming into my pillow and wishing it would suffocate me.

Those bastards stole my job,
Drove me to sheer despair,
And still they persist until they break me!

Tomorrow I will be sentenced,
Condemned like a killer,
And for what?

They told me they were legal,
I believed it to be so,
The whole world fucking lied.

I may not go to prison,
But this is the start of the end,
My destiny finally realized.

[Aspire6]

I'll say that my heart dropped when I saw you posted another reply here, I knew it was going to further the story and it made me feel dreadful of what was going to happen, as it's my own fears too. Fearful of tomorrow, fearful of the future.

Thank you for these, looking forward to the next entry.