He had a family, along time ago.
He denied their existence,
while mine denied me their love.
These people are proud of their heritage.
They are happy to know the truth.
I, however, would like to forget....
The truth robbed me of my dream
that would make me happy.
She told me when I was very young,
that I was a mistake.
Eleven years later...
she told me after he died,
that I should have died instead.
He had much more to live for.
But I am here.
A constant reminder of a life I was never to have had.
I am no different than every other person except....
I am a statistic of my generation.
The life of an Irish / Polish, Catholic family,
broken by what brought them together.
Living my life in an unwanted family.
I was to later symbolize,
what has been hidden for generations.
It had not selected me to be the only one.
It was everyone.
We blame our neighbor for living next to us.
White or black,
there is no color on the skin,
except, that which was caused by a hand.
A family colored, not by the nature of genes...
but by selfish need.
He died when harmonizing a broken family.
One that hurt him too.
Another man died when harmonizing a nation.
Did death really bring together these separate lives,
or did it point out the differences of our souls?
Right now, neither family...
mine or the nations,
accepted the pain weve caused.
To love and own that pain,
so that one can cure the world.
Will a life ever become one?
Or does there forever need to be...
a moral divide.
He inspired who I am,
but I am not right now...
sure who that is.
I have no family.
No one to love,
Only a dream.
I dream of the heart.
A dream of the nation.
To admit we are human,
that we have raped the lives of so many,
from a future meant to be happy,
to be decided by love,
but yet again, it was the blind ignorance...
of human desire for control.
Is this a dream I want to have?
I want to love.
Whether it be you, or an idea,
it will be my own.
Copyright: Michelle Poet --January 1999