Stolen Identity

Stolen Identity long poem

Photo by KOMUnews


From a young age I felt stifled
I wasn’t allowed to be me so I was muffled

Mother insisted at my school I be held back in first grade
Principal said no, she insisted and in her hands he played

She said I’d be better off retarded because someone could do something with me then
because the way I was, I was unable to learn, refused directions again and again

Mother said I came from a loving caring family that I treated terrible
I just don’t know how to appreciate, and made others lives unbearable.

Being me was really not acceptable
So I always felt quite skeptical

Everything I did, wanted to do, said or liked
Was considered bad, wrong, sinful and disliked

My having fun was not allowed
For I’d embarrass them in a crowd

I never knew what I was allowed to do
Because of that I never had a clue

Never knowing what to say or how to act
Since all my actions against me were attacked

My mother said one thing to me and did another
I knew she favored others over me so why did I bother?

My entire life has been quite a farce
Attention I wanted from her were sparse

Always pretending to be an outstanding mother
To impress the friends and family she shouldn’t bother

Mother told me I could never work because I can’t get along with anybody
Making me dependent on her in every way, she said I was shoddy.

While mother was pretending to me that she really loved me
She was going around bashing me to anyone she’d see

I’d complain that other family members treated me bad
She said all you ever do is make trouble and make me mad

If you could just grow up and learn to behave
Then everyone would be nice and about you rave

I trusted my mother when she told me I was born bad, told her I now see
She said she asked the doctor for help but he said nothing was wrong with me.

Mother spoke to me with a fork tongue; she sold me out and lied on me constantly
Leaving me to wonder what I was going to do, and how to survive without her cautiously

I’m afraid to do things to have fun, I’m always afraid someone will be cranky
When I did things at home when I was little I’d pay for it because mom would be angry

I’m afraid to be me and don’t know how to act, who I am, or what to do.
Today I feel the same and for that reason I will always be blue

At the age of almost 60 I’m finding out things were never my fault
I’d like to take all those bad feelings of inadequacy and lock them in a vault

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Lyn Long

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I graduated with a degree in Library Science and was a Dean’s list student. I hold a copyright at the Library of Congress and am the author of Memories of My Grandfather. I love to write short stories and poetry and enter writing contests. Also, I love to re-purpose old furniture and like to do book art, genealogy and history preservation.I've donated historical items to the Library of Congress, and other state and local libraries history centers and museums. I have a book at https://iucat.iu.edu/catalog/9248091? I also have written for https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caleb_Blood_Smith (scroll down to search for body and external links and I've written and entered there too.)In the winter of 1978 I attended an excavation of President Abraham Lincoln’s former cabinet member, Caleb Blood Smith with my grandfather John Walker, in Connersville, Indiana. Together my grandfather and I wrote “Weird Mystery” about the Smith excavation that is currently in the I.U. Library Stacks in Bloomington, Indiana.
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