John Rodriguez shares some boyhood memories where he felt stuck.
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Stuck
By John Rodriguez
I look back and don’t smile.
I’m expected to feast and feel good about me
When all that appears are half-eaten chicken bones.
A hate that I wish to forget but it’s impossible to do.
Glue on my feet and I can’t move.
I was lonely and tired.
I learned how to burn eggs at six
And how to endure the tears that were mixed with mother’s mascara.
I didn’t want nice clothes or a roof over my head.
When it rained,
The ceiling leaked.
Glue on my feet and I can’t move.
I didn’t’ like the smell of shit
But had to change their diaper so that they wouldn’t weep.
I didn’t want my siblings to grow up like me.
I’m sorry for the spankings and all the chores you had to do.
Glue on my feet and I can’t move.
I’m asked to look back but my neck doesn’t agree
Nerves on my skin begin to pinch—the first signs of taboo.
The cultural norm is to forget about the past
But I’ve felt this before and shouldn’t ignore the signs of déja vu.
There was never glue on my feet; I just didn’t’ want to move.
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