he didn’t ask to be born

November 26, 2006

that little boy
born to a dirtbag
who was born to a dirtbag
who was once a little boy
who did not ask to be born…

7 Responses to “he didn’t ask to be born”

  1. Adagio Says:

    “but here he is
    alive and kicking
    kicking his way
    way towards progression
    progression from regression” – Adagio

  2. qazse Says:

    let us hope the spirit isn’t kicked out of him as too often happens…

    but you are a witness to his potential and that is something to be optomistic about.


  3. Bice Says:

    life’s a bitch and then you die.
    I’ve heard it and so have you.
    But somewhere in between
    the birthing and the dying
    there’s still a lot of livin’
    that needs to be done,
    even for the bastard child
    of a dirtbags son.

    Life is what you make it.
    So let’s all hope they do
    make it that is,
    even for the bastard child
    of a dirtbags son.

  4. qazse Says:

    thank you for the poetic response – I love it.

  5. kimtelas Says:

    I am always amazed at life. It’s darkness and light. I have met people who have survived things I am unable to fully imagine some days, and yet, there they are, in the light of what and who they are, full brilliant.

    And then, there are those who are not.

    I wonder about this often. (And I do mean often)

    None of asks to be born, eh?

    Thank you,


  6. qazse Says:

    Yes, what does make the difference? There is a book I heard about titled Teacher written by a hopeless jock who is so influenced by a particular teacher his life is turned around. It is on my list of books to track down.

    I think unless others intervene in some way – a life begun in shit will continue the same. That is why human services are so important and ought not to be handed over to private for profits.

  7. kimtelas Says:


    I did not given enough time to my original response so I am glad you responded to me!

    Indeed, there is the tragedy that life begun in shit often stays in shit and this is our daily human struggle in tragedy. Our infinite paradox I feel inside me each and every day.

    I am not sure what makes a difference. My nephew ended up on the childrens psychiatric ward on Christmas, he is 15.

    I love him. I give him words. I model all I have to give him. I am consistent and true and yet, inside him lives some struggle I do not know how to facilitate for him.

    So, I have no answer either.



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