Baggage

He lays waste
to his surroundings,
uttering the most
unthinkable atrocities.
He huffs
and hollers,
and slams a few doors.
He paces.

He pulls out the latest
DSM IV and
attempts to define
his insanity.
Non existent self-esteem
Emaciated self-image
Self doubt
Self loathing
Self hatred.
He is certain
there is an adequate
medical term
that can delineate him
in a sentence,
but he comes up
with his own
terminology.
He has a definition
tattooed on his heart
that suffices.
Absent of arrogance,
and prohibitive language.
Simple enough for a
six year old.

His parents don't
value him,
support him,
understand him,
or seem to see
all that he offers.
They never loved
all that he his,
so he never learned
to love himself.

He throws the
DSM IV into
the fireplace
and curls up
on the couch
with the cat.
He hopes
his family will
forgive him as he
struggles to abandon
the sad kid
inside.
He really hopes
they'll let him store
his baggage,
in the front
hall closet
again.

Sally