The bleeding of Wits
I bleed my sorrow under the open rain and vivid clouds of this week of May. I have come to a fork and do not know what to do. They tell me to right a paper on my inner thoughts and why I failed. Well here you go, read on you sack of shit.
I come from a background of pain and suffering, I hear my family crying and I cannot help. All this year I have been buried in the rotting who of sorrow. It pains to stake all of my accreditation all my worth on this last paper of who I am, why I am, and were I shall go.
Let me say now that I am a 17-year-old black Jamaican born in The C.D. (central district) of Seattle. Throughout my life I have been tossed from school to school, stayed up late nights and long afternoons fulfilling responsibilities and pledging allegiance to those who brought me into this world. I have now been to 2 elementary schools, 2 middle schools, and now my sixth high school for a grand total of 10 schools.
I have not lived in the same house for more than a year since my parents split apart back when I was in the 8th grade. The ripping of a relationship that I held so dear to me. It was always said that I was too grown up for my age. I act like a child because I was robed of my childhood and I’m tired of being “mature”.
Imagine being called the father of a group because you kept track of the time, or making sure that everyone was feed. I absolutely dread coming so close to “adulthood” at the age of 18 this summer. I feel that I have already lived a lifetime and that it should all end.
Once my family split apart, my older brother of to Arizona for college, my older sister disobedient and out of the house. I was left alone with my three younger siblings to try and resolve the issue between my parents.
They told me it wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t my business. Yet I proceeded regardless. I trekked through the lost tears and herded my siblings to safety overtime things were wrong. I know that this superficial variable of time that has been ingrained in my head since I left my mothers womb and perhaps before; does not pause for a striving black family.
I let my heart bleed as I sat and watched in anger an frustration, being taunted back by false sense of security like that time my parents did get back together.
It seems that I have made a knack for getting caught at the wrong time in the wrong place, getting into fights, stealing petty merchandise. All as an outreach to have someone listen to me. They said I asked, but believe me I begged.
Do not let this residual anger and reluctance that I have gained towards any and all “power” holders that try and suppress me or my friends fool you. I am not a fool, only a young man, a Man, a child that is lost and finding its way to what I may some day calls my home.
I want security, I want love, I want to hold someone that loves me in my arms until they are sore. So I came to Shackleton and blinded by my faith in more being secure. I came to Shackleton without many expectations. However I did have a few.
I hoped to live somewhere I could call home; I hoped to live a new life, I knew I would learn and teach a lot. I have succeeded my expectations, but not the ones that we set upon me by the school.
I came back to Shackleton with reluctance because one of the students here named Kenny seemed to be my enemy. Io hated being near this guy and his phoniness. However I learned to look past this and accept him for who he is.
Longing for correctness I organized a student union. The only thing we accomplished was getting coffee in the barn (Eating Area), which I viewed as a positive yet disgraceful accomplishment.
Student union did not go so well the last quarter of my Shackleton time. I was beaten by my self and being told that I had failed the previous quarter. Now I am threatened to not receive my credits for a few of my classes after redoing my part of my junior year.
I am being told that I am a failure. I hate being the underdog, the one without money, the one without cool clothes, the one that accepts pity gifts. All I want is to gain security and stability in my life. Yet I don’t know were to begin. I just want to go home and indulge in life’s pleasures so that I may gain a new insight into my problems and move on.
The next step in my life is to get into The White Mountain School. I am not sure how liable this hope is. However I am ready to fight once again with a renewed spirit that I get around this time a year.
Happy May 27, 2005
Marcus “.:BONES:.” Francis
I come from a background of pain and suffering, I hear my family crying and I cannot help. All this year I have been buried in the rotting who of sorrow. It pains to stake all of my accreditation all my worth on this last paper of who I am, why I am, and were I shall go.
Let me say now that I am a 17-year-old black Jamaican born in The C.D. (central district) of Seattle. Throughout my life I have been tossed from school to school, stayed up late nights and long afternoons fulfilling responsibilities and pledging allegiance to those who brought me into this world. I have now been to 2 elementary schools, 2 middle schools, and now my sixth high school for a grand total of 10 schools.
I have not lived in the same house for more than a year since my parents split apart back when I was in the 8th grade. The ripping of a relationship that I held so dear to me. It was always said that I was too grown up for my age. I act like a child because I was robed of my childhood and I’m tired of being “mature”.
Imagine being called the father of a group because you kept track of the time, or making sure that everyone was feed. I absolutely dread coming so close to “adulthood” at the age of 18 this summer. I feel that I have already lived a lifetime and that it should all end.
Once my family split apart, my older brother of to Arizona for college, my older sister disobedient and out of the house. I was left alone with my three younger siblings to try and resolve the issue between my parents.
They told me it wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t my business. Yet I proceeded regardless. I trekked through the lost tears and herded my siblings to safety overtime things were wrong. I know that this superficial variable of time that has been ingrained in my head since I left my mothers womb and perhaps before; does not pause for a striving black family.
I let my heart bleed as I sat and watched in anger an frustration, being taunted back by false sense of security like that time my parents did get back together.
It seems that I have made a knack for getting caught at the wrong time in the wrong place, getting into fights, stealing petty merchandise. All as an outreach to have someone listen to me. They said I asked, but believe me I begged.
Do not let this residual anger and reluctance that I have gained towards any and all “power” holders that try and suppress me or my friends fool you. I am not a fool, only a young man, a Man, a child that is lost and finding its way to what I may some day calls my home.
I want security, I want love, I want to hold someone that loves me in my arms until they are sore. So I came to Shackleton and blinded by my faith in more being secure. I came to Shackleton without many expectations. However I did have a few.
I hoped to live somewhere I could call home; I hoped to live a new life, I knew I would learn and teach a lot. I have succeeded my expectations, but not the ones that we set upon me by the school.
I came back to Shackleton with reluctance because one of the students here named Kenny seemed to be my enemy. Io hated being near this guy and his phoniness. However I learned to look past this and accept him for who he is.
Longing for correctness I organized a student union. The only thing we accomplished was getting coffee in the barn (Eating Area), which I viewed as a positive yet disgraceful accomplishment.
Student union did not go so well the last quarter of my Shackleton time. I was beaten by my self and being told that I had failed the previous quarter. Now I am threatened to not receive my credits for a few of my classes after redoing my part of my junior year.
I am being told that I am a failure. I hate being the underdog, the one without money, the one without cool clothes, the one that accepts pity gifts. All I want is to gain security and stability in my life. Yet I don’t know were to begin. I just want to go home and indulge in life’s pleasures so that I may gain a new insight into my problems and move on.
The next step in my life is to get into The White Mountain School. I am not sure how liable this hope is. However I am ready to fight once again with a renewed spirit that I get around this time a year.
Happy May 27, 2005
Marcus “.:BONES:.” Francis
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