My black period, the part of my life that fell

Between my twentieth and thirtieth years….

A time when I hated with such intensity,

That I hated what I was

I hated the fact that people controlled my environment

I hated when things were out of place

Or out of my control

And didn’t flow as I needed it to

A time when I felt congested and all pent up,

Pinned down

And torn asunder.

It was my blackest time to date

And yet…

A learning time for me, a growing time,

A sad and bewildering time

A time when confusion reigned supreme

And I had no one who could be there

To attend to my every need.

I had never exited from my childhood because I had not the tools to move

And so I sat

An observer of the black period I was in

And tried to figure

Where I would go next

And what my ideals would be.

My sweat, like bullets

Proclaimed the war I was waging

And how the losers all around me (and myself)

Flared under the constant fire

Of my demanding anger and bitterness and selfishness

For I insisted on having life my own way

And not knowing how to change it

I continued to be rotten.

I was mean to my only daughter

And all the while I was writing this

I was still caged and cornered like a hungry wolf

Waiting for his prey to pounce upon

Perhaps I can change this miserable self

Into a more understanding person

And yet

With all these words

My Black Period continues

As if eternity was the punishment I must endure

And myself

The endurance.

By Harry Martin Polis