Poetry: a part of me

I reside in an authoritarian country
The only difference between
South Korea and I is that
my dictator is my flesh and blood father.
from a Haitian descent
He came into power in my world
the day God blessed this earth with me.
Took my first breath at Kings County
Started in Flatbush
Parented by a stay at home dad
and mother working two jobs
to put food on the table.
Two brothers: one before, one after.
Like two before three but after one.
I was stuck in the middle.
Neither the oldest nor the youngest.
Then came my cousin, 4 years younger
Deported from her country to America
Happy to receive a girl amongst us
Finally someone to play dolls with
But that feeling soon began to
fade once my closet began to empty.
I was selfish, I was jealous.
It was a competition
All I wanted was attention.
My mom, she was there
but dad was the speaker of the house.
Every year the strictness and rules
increased for me
as well as for my three siblings.
Hated this form of government with a passion.
Rule #23 was no
watching television during the week
if we had attended school that day and
had school the following day.
Talking on the phone was very limited.
Like Maslow with his pyramid,
my loving dad also had one.
At the top sat ‘school’,
below was ‘food/water’
followed by ‘respect/obedience ‘
and everything unmentioned
fell into place below.
Having a boy/girl friend
was equivalent to taking drugs.
Basically it wasn’t allowed
and according to my fuzzy memory
I believe that was rule #2 in the book.
Hatred started to form
within the veins of my heart
Envy followed
and depression wasn’t too far behind
Felt like i was in vain.
Did I rebel you might ask?
I did at times but I later found out
that it wasn’t worth my energy.
I tried, I pleaded, I cried, and
I prayed but it didn’t change.
My cousin and I grew out
of this unseen jealousy because
When I was a child,
I talked like a child,
I thought like a child,
I reasoned like a child.
But I’ve grown and
I put childish ways behind me.
Before I was frustrated by all these rules
and now I almost accept them
because I have no choice.
I even understand that
my father is trying to do his best.
Growing up without his parents in Haiti,
had to create his own standards in his new home
with relatives who provided only food and shelter.
Perhaps ones best is all one can do.
I ended in LI and each day
just when the sun seemed like it would
appear from the clouds, It withdraws itself
right back under its shield.
But still why is poetry within me?
With pen and paper
It gives me self alliance
Cause all I feel is defiance once I speak out
I don’t have to be afraid of what people
might say cause I’m only human
I could find strength and stop running for cover
I can let go of fear and unscramble the words
That is meant to hear.
But till this day, every now and then
the same hatred, envy and depression
comes back to haunt me as I’m out on
the field picking out the wheat from the weeds
struggling to prove myself worthy
and when it does, my pen and paper
serves as my sword and shield
to cope and hope for the future.
A talent sent from God.