The Age of Adoption

It was two years of non-existence,
heartache and pain.
I was the un-known,
bouncing from place-to-place.
Then it happened!

Was it the ideal mother and the peril family gone?
Was it a mother who I truly didn’t know?
And the family I still don’t know?

This is the place of dismay,
judgments and chaos.
This is the place of criticism:
The place where neither you
nor others are subject.

It was almost as if a day didn’t go by when I didn’t clamor.
It was almost as if a day didn’t go by where I didn’t try to feel a sensation of Why:
Why did they do this;
Why did they put me through this abuse?
Here, I begin to understand the types of abuse:
How mental and emotional abuse can be worst than physical.
But all I hope for is that other abuses don’t feel like this:
The feeling that your mind’s eye certainly cannot comprehend.

It bobbles one's mind,
makes one nauseous,
and tears run dry.
The feeling of despair between your heart and mind sends you into a world of worry.
Young kids shouldn’t have to feel like this:
One's inner conscious filled in worry,
wondering if it was your own fault.
The feeling of deciding whether your heart—or mind—is right.

Mom says to follow you’re first mind.
Or is that simply my inner-being?
Spiritually,
the feeling of no belonging rapped in ego.
The feeling of sorrow,
pain and hope
—all intertwined makes me ask myself:
When will she come back?