Survivor Of Generational Trauma

 

I hated seasons, holidays, Christmas and Easter because they never spoken of warmth and breath of freedom.
I despised modern pastors, slave masters, and teachers
Bullying was never a part of me, and i loved school because it freed me from drama and trauma that confined me in an enclosed ethanol-scented nest where my flesh used to find no rest when the sun goes to sleep

I loved Margaret, a sophisticated, bright and beautiful young lady I could only compare to Dora the explorer.
Never have I ever really enjoyed playing games or shuffling cards during break times with boys, running around and about with young ladies at puberty, never liked running around and about with them or seeing their sharp-pointed breasts.

I hated parents, fathers and grandfathers and their thoughts.
I hated my father because he never told me the real war is fought in the silence between our voices, in the lies we tell ourselves to survive. He never told me, survival isn't the same as living, survival is waking up after the storm swept underneath the ground to go and toil again for bread and freedom.

I studied alcohol and why grandmothers sung ballads before the fall of Midnight's terror.
I never really understood the reason for local siphons at local tukuls that only siphoned chaos and hatred into developing zygotes and alienate our planets filled with peace and tranquility.

I never went to herbalist or doctors, i hated the smell of drugs. And the decorations of shrines. And biology made me sick. I hated Napoleonic wars and Louises, and Bible seemed like a beautiful collection of fictions written by Shakespeares.

The stings of bees and its honey were too different things but the intoxication of its sweetness and delicacy is another.
They called it pleasure but I call it disaster.

I never liked politicians and hunters. The both wear smiles with loaded riffles
A hunter would never leave a deer because she has a calf,
and a poacher would never leave an elephant because she has a tender calf, or a rhinoceros because she just gave birth. Grief is collateral, compassion a liability whether hooves or hopes, they hunt just the same but different preys.


There was a man i used to like and all he used do was keep a fleet of sheep. I loved lambs and lime lights.
I never really loved sheep but they were my delight. Goats' hatred and jealousy made me sick and flight

I found happiness in small ragged rooms and peace in my tormenting memorabilia. Soliloquizing, in the midst of the rain was my favorite season song. And mourning in summer times was a thing in my mother's house. Elder sons, and twins fighting for birth rights and soups.

I enjoyed watching horror movies but I never liked the sounds of gunshots and marching of battalions because i had once seen them not in my dream. I had once, more and time again heard mothers wail and scream on the bodies of their dead sons and husbands.

Still, through all the noises and silence, i am still here, we're still here. Learning that it’s okay to grieve what was lost. Survival was a different scene and i guess after that we all begin to live and find happiness in places once disregarded and to give pace to hope despite the disturbing memories and trauma.