I've lost the ability to be happy- I don't know where I lost it.
I loved more than once, but the memory is buried in the stone of years past.
I know I should be grateful to have loved... but I can't care.
I lost my drive when youth passed by- I saw it pass, and waved.
I thought I was being smart by trying to appreciate the gift at the time... but I can't remember the appreciation behind the dust of the years gone by.
I worried that letting a man molest me when I was a young teen would scar me. I was right-- it disfigured my soul.
I wondered what I would think of myself 22 years later... now I know. It's better and worse than I imagined... because I couldn't imagine it.
That's the curse of the young mind-- you think you know it all, but you can't, because in youth you've seen such a lantern-light view of the world. You don't know. You don't know what you can't see yet. Even though you knew it was wrong at the time. It felt wrong. You felt trapped but important by this man that was exploiting you. You were willing and ashamed.
When it happened, you cried in the shower washing off the vaseline. You couldn't go back. You buried it, but it saturated the ground. Everything that grew from you in the following years stank of it. The smell follows you- that regret. If you keep running, the wind hides it, but you're so tired inside from fighting against it that you can never run from it for long. The smell always catches up to you.
It catches up to your love, too. You can't be a man for the lady that loves you. You can't be a man. You'll always be a weak, broken boy- no matter what the world thinks it sees. You'll never trust yourself like a man does. You'll never deserve the trust of your mother, your lover, or your friends.
It makes you sad. Hollow. Even when you're in heaven.
I took mushrooms to discover what it meant, and I saw. Life is beautiful, and it's all okay. It really is... but the smell always comes back.
No matter how high I've gotten... no matter the tears of joy I've cried at the majesty of God's creation... the smell always taints everything.
22 years have passed. He died a couple months ago. He had gone to jail for 30 days for what he did to me when I was 15. He paid with his life. I have, too. He was 58 years old. I don't know how he died, but I suspect he killed himself. He killed me too. I am the same age now that he was when he had sex with me. It hurts to think about it now. Why could he have done what he did? How? Now he's dead in the ground, and I'm still dead above it.
I'm ungrateful for everything wonderful that's happened in my life for the last 22 years, because none of it sticks. I've loved with my whole heart- lovely women that loved me back. I've dreamed, and aspired, and sang with a voice that I loved- but I can't ever remember. That smell, rotten, is always there. The smell of shame. I let it happen. I polluted my soul with a lonely, desperate, fearful allowance as a boy... and it never leaves me now.
I'm working somewhere that pays me more than I'll ever deserve to be a leader of men- but I'm just a boy. I just want to escape it... the smell. I want to run. But I'm so tired. I'm so sorry that I'm the reason that I will never be more than three-fifths of a whole person.
When he died, I thought I'd feel somehow free... but now it's even worse-- because he died with that lonely smell, and someday, far away, I will too.
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