"Wrong Person, Wrong Time"
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What do you want me to say?
Gee, thanks Mom don't forget to pack me a lunch with a Little Debbie cake? Or Hey, Dad, I'm still a great sport even though this is the tenth, eleventh, or twelfth thousandth one you've taken me to now, lets forget it all for an hour and go throw that pig skin in the back yard.
Specialist.
Bah!
I'm not no friggin' idiot I know what that means. It means some screwy doctor who's going to put me through an obstacle course of tests, lectures and therapy talks to "fix you". Who in the hell ever said I was broken?!?!?!
I'm not something you can just fix, and you frickin' know it! You can't glue me together and make me the child you were praying I'd be when you were going through labor. I'm not! And you can't deal with it! So you send me to one after another telling them diagnose what's wrong, and what doesn't make sense. They've given you the same answers all of them, but you can't take it and I can.
I'm a mutant.
Do you know how scared I was when they said that the first time? You looked at them dumbfounded like they had switched to Latin. You always do when they start talking about it.
But I'm fluent now.
I'm a mutant.
M-U-T-A-N-T.
I'm a mutant, mom. Yeah, that's all in english.
You can't handle it, and soon you won't be able to handle that it's me. They should have carted you off long go -- would've if not for me. You completely lost it when my sister came out dead didn't you? Then you thought wow I'll be your saving grace! You're sick mom. Sick. Sick. Sick.
Your younger than me and were born decades before me. You think doctors can fix everything, and tv will give you all the news in a friendly way without any lime light. You think the world will rain rose petals soon, and everything will be right as the rain.
I can't stand you anymore.
I'm leaving.
That's right. I'm standing here with my backpack on my back, and sheets tied out my window. I haven't left you a note because I don't want you to know where I'm going and I don't want you to know I'm not coming back. I won't stand another therapist, or any more "treatments".
A good writer said you do not have to like a parent in the least to love them because somehow it's in our gene's or ingrained in our minds and hearts because of the umbilical chord that connected hearts.
I'll always love you, mom, but I can no longer find a reason to stay.
Goodbye, Mom. Laters, Dad.
I won't miss you.
Maybe I'll miss this squeaky gate or the girl next door, Jennifer Marie, who gets prettier every year. She's clear faced now, and her hairs turning shades of red in the brown now. I've known her for years as a friend and I've been starting to wish I had the chance to kiss her just once now that I look at her bedroom window, dark as it is.
I hope I do see her again.
I won't miss the house, except for the sanctum, which was my room so long. I will miss the things in my room I could not stick in my backpack. The posters, computer, old letters from my girl friends, clothes I adore and maybe my goldfish.
He'll survive though I bet.
So long, Gupper.
Goodbye, old life. Hello, new one. Goodbye, my over protective, uncaring, parents. I'll try not to miss this all. Old neighbor hood.
Stiff upper lip.
Tonight is my night. Tonight I begin to walk without using someone to old on to.
Goodbye, specialist Charles Xavier, who ever you are.
I don't need you, I don't need anyone.
I'd say I'm walking with my own to feet now…but I'm flying above you all.
---
What do you want me to say?
Gee, thanks Mom don't forget to pack me a lunch with a Little Debbie cake? Or Hey, Dad, I'm still a great sport even though this is the tenth, eleventh, or twelfth thousandth one you've taken me to now, lets forget it all for an hour and go throw that pig skin in the back yard.
Specialist.
Bah!
I'm not no friggin' idiot I know what that means. It means some screwy doctor who's going to put me through an obstacle course of tests, lectures and therapy talks to "fix you". Who in the hell ever said I was broken?!?!?!
I'm not something you can just fix, and you frickin' know it! You can't glue me together and make me the child you were praying I'd be when you were going through labor. I'm not! And you can't deal with it! So you send me to one after another telling them diagnose what's wrong, and what doesn't make sense. They've given you the same answers all of them, but you can't take it and I can.
I'm a mutant.
Do you know how scared I was when they said that the first time? You looked at them dumbfounded like they had switched to Latin. You always do when they start talking about it.
But I'm fluent now.
I'm a mutant.
M-U-T-A-N-T.
I'm a mutant, mom. Yeah, that's all in english.
You can't handle it, and soon you won't be able to handle that it's me. They should have carted you off long go -- would've if not for me. You completely lost it when my sister came out dead didn't you? Then you thought wow I'll be your saving grace! You're sick mom. Sick. Sick. Sick.
Your younger than me and were born decades before me. You think doctors can fix everything, and tv will give you all the news in a friendly way without any lime light. You think the world will rain rose petals soon, and everything will be right as the rain.
I can't stand you anymore.
I'm leaving.
That's right. I'm standing here with my backpack on my back, and sheets tied out my window. I haven't left you a note because I don't want you to know where I'm going and I don't want you to know I'm not coming back. I won't stand another therapist, or any more "treatments".
A good writer said you do not have to like a parent in the least to love them because somehow it's in our gene's or ingrained in our minds and hearts because of the umbilical chord that connected hearts.
I'll always love you, mom, but I can no longer find a reason to stay.
Goodbye, Mom. Laters, Dad.
I won't miss you.
Maybe I'll miss this squeaky gate or the girl next door, Jennifer Marie, who gets prettier every year. She's clear faced now, and her hairs turning shades of red in the brown now. I've known her for years as a friend and I've been starting to wish I had the chance to kiss her just once now that I look at her bedroom window, dark as it is.
I hope I do see her again.
I won't miss the house, except for the sanctum, which was my room so long. I will miss the things in my room I could not stick in my backpack. The posters, computer, old letters from my girl friends, clothes I adore and maybe my goldfish.
He'll survive though I bet.
So long, Gupper.
Goodbye, old life. Hello, new one. Goodbye, my over protective, uncaring, parents. I'll try not to miss this all. Old neighbor hood.
Stiff upper lip.
Tonight is my night. Tonight I begin to walk without using someone to old on to.
Goodbye, specialist Charles Xavier, who ever you are.
I don't need you, I don't need anyone.
I'd say I'm walking with my own to feet now…but I'm flying above you all.
