The Adoptee

As if thrown here from the sky.

No one knows the reason why.

We woke in a stranger's arms.

Not knowing of the future harm.

Like a cog in the machine.

No truth nor anything clean.

We ended up in the system.

Assimilated and stratified; nothing winsome.

We became the creators' trash.

Given up gladly to some barren ones for cash.

Knowing nothing about ourselves.

Like a pinocchio on the shelf.

But not so eager to get involved.

There was no place in society for us.

We were told in good time, we will evolve.

Into the image of some artificial state.

In the likeness of the child they couldn't make.

Alone, isolated, we couldn't cry.

We didn't know what we didn't know and why.

Years have past.

The four parent figures had passed.

And we struggle in search of support.

Our social class sealed by a court.

All we feel, how we don't belong.

To our friends not like us, we appear strong.

Far from it!

As far as the truth has been kept from us.

Life is lonely, tough. It's a terrible fuss.

Is there anyone out there like me.

Is there anyone out there I can see.

That is bent because of the rent of my being?

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Kilmer Poetics Journal