cold by: father wise

No one ever listens and everything around me seems cold.
From the day I was born, I was torn from my mother’s womb. Entangled by her umbilical cord as if attempting my own suicide before life could even begin. 
    I remember when; that cold October day, the wind came in through broken windows, the winter’s frost covering old wooden floors, like icing on a birthday cake, I could only dream of having.
    A skipped childhood led to the miseducation of a learned man, No sense of direction, blinded by my own reality in a place of comfort though bullets fly, innocent people die, drugs are rampant, little boys and girls are still invisible, and the abnormal has become the new normal while solutions lay dormant. 
    The cold concrete bricks that have engulfed my dreams, I do not blame. 
    The teachers that never heard my silent cries, or paid attention to the make-up of a young boy hiding under the mask of many, or the coldest of people who stepped on mother’s hands when held out in hopes of feeding her hungry children, I do not blame. 
    This world I know has never been warm, or forgiving, or handed me chances. This world has taught me no empathy but instead how to keep my arms closed when my own daughters and sons waited for their hugs like the birthday cakes I still yearn to have yet never received. 
    Now that I have your undivided attention and my mind has been exposed, and the silence of my cries have been laid upon ears who know how to love, how to care, and how to shhhhhhhhhhh… 
    Listen…
    There is still hope even for a heart that has forgotten how to bleed.
    But for now, it’s still pretty cold. Does anyone have a laugh, an imaginable hug full of hope or maybe, just maybe, you can simply look to the person next to you and warm this world one smile at a time.