Maximus D. Redwood

Maximus D. Redwood Poems

Two more years until
I become an adult.
I don't feel very real and it hurts.
All adults have really done for me was cause harm and—

Like many, many years going by, the petals of the pink peony bloom.
Loveless years.
Pinkless fears.
I wonder if this flower of love belongs to me.

Long forgotten, but still there.
The ghosts still linger in the back of my mind and pop up only when—
When something is familiar to them.
The ghosts, they flood my senses.

I know it is coming.
It is.
The lightning has struck like your realization that—
That I am more than you, more than the chains you bound to me.

I have to ask my friends who I am.
They'll have a better answer than me because—
Because I don't know who I am.
My self image flickers like a broken light


I have worn this mask for so long.
Maybe it's a part of my face now.
It feels like it.
I don't know—


Every scratch they make at me burns like a million flames in my soul.
Every scratch I have made back of them hurt them none,
As if I were just playfully patting paws on them like—
Like some cat not to be taken seriously.

Attention, I want all of it.
I know it's wrong, but I'd do anything for it.
If you give me it, my mind melts,

It is lukewarm, the afterlife.
She is why.
I want Death's warm embrace to—
To take me to a place I truly belong.

Reopening the dirty wound to—
To clean it out.
To clear the dirt and infections and orange leaves
From Autumn.

For me, eating is a chore.
Yes, I know, it's hard to ignore.
It may be easy for you, but
I'll take one bite, and it—

We create our own constellations
And stare at the planets above us all.
I watch you grin in fascination
While we run through the trees, greatly tall.


'You'll never do it,
What, you're really that sad? '
I know you think that.
I see it in your face when you see the old markings on my arms.

The Best Poem Of Maximus D. Redwood

Two More

Two more years until
I become an adult.
I don't feel very real and it hurts.
All adults have really done for me was cause harm and—
And I don't want to be come one of them.
I'm so scared.
Let it be three more,
Maybe six more,
Maybe seven more years?
My head hurts, my heart is pounding, my stomach is sick.
This is sick.
I am sick.
I know I may be overreacting,
But after all that has happened to me, maybe I have the right to!
I have the right to feel sick!
I don't want to grow up,
I never had a childhood,
I never remembered my childhood,
I never will remember my childhood maybe
Because of adults.
Take me back when I was nine.
Tell my parents to actually watch me,
To listen to me!
Tell them that electronic devices would never raise me perfectly,
That I'd only get harmed in the end!
Tell them to understand that freezing under someone who has pinned you would never be consent
Even if you never said no!
Tell them that talking to me would make me so much happier,
That it would make me feel less empty and lonely inside
And that it would make me talk to them more in return!
Tell them that maybe if they spent more time with me, they would have caught my groomer
Red handed, that I wouldn't have so many scars deeply ingrained in my brain!
Tell them that maybe if they did all that, then maybe becoming an adult wouldn't be one of my—
My many, many fears.
Tell them that I fear becoming an adult.
I can't do this, I can't think about it without breaking down!
It's around the corner, it'll happen soon, my whole life is going to change!
I'm going to become what has hurt me for so long
And I can do nothing about it.

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