Open Mic: Birthday Day

It was a dream that day,
quite a team we made,
digging our own graves filled with blood, thick with hate.
Does that sound like a party you'd think would be great?
Let alone a child's first birthday party?

This was a day that I made,
I manifested my own fate,
turned the page, used my own family as slaves to form a play,
expose their ways of fueling my rage, bought on by their inflated egotistical conformist embrace.

Now I'm humble when faced with an opportunity to take my place in this bloodline,
replace my tendency to stray with my presence on that day.
Even a toy I put away with the rest of them and pray that it will be appreciated in some way.

Because my family's socially retarded,
They've Got some issues the can't seem to part with,
it's a fine crafted piece of art,
their wounds they've gathered from the start of their journeys path,
It's made it hard to be smart and see the light not the dark in relation to their own daughters heart.


They grinned as i walked in, they welcomed me n, even a kiss was given, as I passed them the present I never tied with a ribbon,
But then they saw you, they frowned toward you,
But your my baby's daddy and we adore you,
Now it seems I've sinned for asking you to come in.
I've been on the brink of any an ability to think quick and at that moment it was in sync,
we'd never fit in, neither together or separate, there's no way to win.

On that back verandah, watching all those people banter,
a quick glace at my sons happy face, was a moment to answer,why I was here to be glared at, then given at ransom to these looks of dissatisfaction, and oh those mantras they chant and rant to themselves,
I can hear them as well, a open minds hell.

So to dissolve this ill that I felt,
I decided to help myself to the cold drinks which I then dealt, to the ones who came with me, the one who see my true self.

The beers I only got three,
But we had four, for this I'm sorry,
I was just ignored, by this woman who I once adored, not even a twitch as I moved toward.
Was bad form, to put myself out, never ask for help, from a sister who's embrace you've never felt.
And that man she stands in front of, with a badge on his belt,
Gives off an aura of negative decorum He's the worst type of pig I've ever smelt.

Even given this display of my reputation today, I must say, it should be put on the shelf.
For I was not the only one put out for the tensions felt,
Their were others as well,
my baby daddy's new lady, the daddy himself and that daddy's good mate, the uncle that helps.
The woman who stands beside me, she makes my heart melt,
These people I appreciate,
I would not have dealt by myself.

Not much more to be heart felt,
Except the smiles of the children who party hard as we expelled ourselves, out of the play to a pub were positivity smells dwell.
At least the debrief of that day went well.