The Throwaways

My experience with the Allan Memorial Institute

The Throwaways

They came for us in the 70's 
they told our parents that 
there was something wrong,
that we didn't work right.

There was nothing wrong with us.

They'd take us to schools 
poke us, prod us and tell 
us we were broken but 
said that they could fix us.

They filled us with lies
corrupted us, made us doubt
ourselves. They stole from 
us what made us smile, 
what made us happy.

They destroyed the path we
were on and then abandoned
us like broken toys, they left us
in the void.

They called themselves educators 
but they were perpetrators, they 
took the child and left a husk in it's
place.

We live in a society where children 
are not allowed to grow, if we deviate
from the path we are judged, we are
robbed of who we are and then discarded.

There was nothing wrong with us. 

The Path

 
 
 Everyone has that one great love.
 Some manage to hang on to it for decades,
 while others lose it in a matter of days.
 And a few spend their lives searching for it.

 I found it, for three years my life was good.
 But like all things you need to nurture it,  
 care for it but like a short story our love 
 had run its course.
 
 Ever so painfully our paths parted, leading us 
 to different futures. For a time my heart shed 
 empty tears, I began to believe that love was 
 not for me.
 
 But love being the trickster that it is left 
 me a gift. Buried deep within my soul, she 
 had planted the seeds for my own rebirth.
 
 Password protected, the seeds could only 
 grow when I learned to accept myself. 
 Once that happened, I was able to teach 
 myself to heal, to learn that we needn’t 
 walk alone and that love was there if we wanted it. 

Untitled

For most of my life I've been stuck 
on one side, a side filled with
anger, hate, anxiety and depression. 
Drowning in loss, I never knew
what direction to go. 

And then she opened a door.

From that open door came strands 
of light, they wrapped themselves 
around me, gave me strength to see 
the path that lay right in front of me.

Over the last few years I have 
fought to get back to the middle, to
balance the scale, to replace hate 
with love, anxiety with acceptance, 
and depression with happiness.

I know that this fight will last 
the rest of my life but it is a fight
I will not lose. 

I know this because she opened the door.

Where I was

 I remember where I was
 A fog of anger and sadness
 Unable to speak about it my
 wounds gaping and bleeding
 Lost in my own voice
 
 30 years of tears and broken dreams
 Bullies, abusers, and sex offenders
 Those who hide in your mind and
 Break you from the inside, you try
 To keep your soul from escaping but it’s
 Getting harder
 
 Then one night the great spirit taps
 You on the shoulder. She whispers to
 You, “raise your head” she says.  
 And you see her for the first time.
 The sound of her voice calms your  
 beating heart.
 
 She holds your hand and just like that
 Your healing begins. Your lovemaking  
 chases the demons away, she fills your  
 heart till it overflows. Her wisdom  
 intertwines with yours, she leaves  
 you with gifts that last a lifetime.
 
 I know where I am, my scars have healed  
 and my heart is full. I’m stronger, the toxic  
 life is but a memory and you greet each  
 day with a smile. Nothing can hurt you,  
 she taught you that and even though  
 your paths diverged. She’s still apart of you.

The Tree

The tree has stood here for centuries,
sitting at the crossroads watching.
Its memories of what it has seen
buried within its roots, scars littering its bark.

Looking over the endless fields as men
battle for their very lives. Fields soaked
in tears and blood, lives cut short,
brothers carrying the fallen.

Millions of untold stories falling into silence,
mothers never hearing the sound of loved
ones again. Somewhere a babe cries out
never again knowing the touch of her parents.

The fighting has stopped, leaders of both
sides sign agreements and the true atrocities
are uncovered. Promises of remembrance
are made and the broken return home
never quite the same.

The fields are quiet now, the great tree stands
at the crossroads. The fragile peace flowing
through its branches, the tree asks when will
we learn as he listens for the thunder of another
coming storm.