The Way It Was

When I was a child
It was just
The way it was
I lost myself in the secrets
That were lost in me

Taught that I should learn to accept
That where I came from didn't matter - but
(who am I ?)
I was chosen
I was loved and
(this boy who never began)
I just was.

I remember the birthdays -
Presents, friends, all a child could want
We rode the train up to the beach in Del Mar
(the train was always so magical)
And everything was so wonderful, so perfect
The doors inside of me locked up so tight
(mommy, tell me about when I was born)
I had taught myself so well.
I was chosen, and
(sorry son, I wasn't there)

I was special.

Yesterday, I read about a woman
Who, after years of searching, was finally able to find her father,
just a couple of days ago.
She found him seven weeks after he died.

And though each small victory in this search
Is met with a thousand more defeats and dead ends,
The search goes on
And the years pass by
Allowing less and less time
For any chance there may be to make things right.

If I ever do find the woman
Who gave me these green eyes
This crooked smile
A heart full of sadness
And my life
I don't want the flowers I bring the first time we meet
Thanking her for what she has given me

To gently be laid upon her grave.

When I was a child
It was just
The way it was.

It can't be that way anymore.

- Casey Porter
California adoptee, Born September 5, 1967
Born Baby Boy Stenerson-Mathern

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(This feature appeared in the Summer 2001 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.)Copyright 2001 Bastard Nation
All Rights Reserved