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The retarded exponent

I look up and I see grey clouds gathering in a distance.

Clouds as grey as my mood.

I try to fight the tears but that doesn’t help much.

I am caught in a frizz, one too hard to untangle myself from.

My soul yearns for more, cries out for more.

More than I can ever give myself regardless of the pressures I put upon myself.

I have to be successful; I have to make all my dreams come true.

That is the only way that I get to escape this mental enslavement that I have been chained to.

You see, it is not easy being a middle child. You feel neglected and unappreciated.

I have suffered under this York for many years, years as many as my days on earth.

Sleep escapes me and the days seem to pass by as fast as the blink of my eye.

On some days I am overwhelmed by the fantasies of my new life when I have it all together.

There is never an in-between.

My life is a mixture of my life’s biggest mistakes and regrets and a hatred for those who had the power to make my life as beautiful as I want it to be but instead made it somewhat of a living hell.

I forgive them, but on more occasions, I hate them for it.

Love and hate, two of the most powerful emotions that I struggle with every day.

It takes all my willpower and numerous bible lessons that I have received to choose love.

Forgetting that a little hate is good for the soul.

I know what it takes to get to where I want to be.

The road is clear ahead of me and I can see the future quite clearly through my cloud of tears.

I am 40, and still living under my parents’ roof, waiting for them to bring me my daily meal.

I have failed as a man, and as a human being.

I sit outside and watch the sunset.

I take my chair back into the mud hut.

‘Well, tomorrow is another day, who knows what it might bring’, I say to myself.

On the other days, I hate and loath myself for not being where I want to be in life.

For what is the world without love?

I have mastered the art of holding back my tears.

But my pillow always offers me a shoulder to cry on every night.

At times I feel like I am not good enough like I don’t have what it takes to be at the top.

I have always been scared of failure and being any less than the best.

But there is always this voice.

A voice - so still and small, almost like a whisper.

‘Soon enough my child’, it says.

Soon enough.

But it’s been years now.

I watch as all my dreams and hopes sink into the abyss.

The retarded exponent -- article by Essie Michaels

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