A poem I wrote about my adoption.

My name I do not know.
For the parents who gave birth
to me lovingly let me go.
They gave me to a family where
I'd have lots of care.
They didn't want to leave me,
but they knew I'd be safe there.
Safe from all the troubles hiding
in their path.
Unsure of the future,
common sense they did not lack.
They made a wise descision,
together hand in hand.
I love them for what they've given me,
LIFE, even though unplanned.
A life of love and happiness.
A humble christian home.
A mother always there for me.
A dad who loved me as his own.
But my heart aches for my family,
the one I left behind.
A mom, a dad, a sister
they're always on my mind.
Do they ever think of me?
This I may never know.
But I pray to God continually
to let us meet and say hello.
Hello,and thankyou,
for your unselfish love.
We will meet I know some day
in heaven up above...

The Soul's Silent Scream
There it was.
Did you hear it?
The sound from the abyss.
Unspeakable pain, borne with no outlet.
A wordless cry for help. For love. Identity.
Meaning. Security. Contact.
Under control, the Scream is a growing ache;
wild dogs in the basement a la Bradshaw.
Snarling, eating, snapping, gnawing each organ,
each appendage, every synapse, even layers of skin.
A slow death, but at least more predictable
than the onslaught of the entire pack at once.

In the distance
Did you hear it?
A Baby Boy "Smith" made of gametes from
a commercial artist and a secretary,
Told goodbye before knowing the meaning of hello.
Honorable intent assumed.
Presumed? Perfumed? Exhumed?
Did the nurses hear my soul scream
lying in the hospital waiting to be chosen?
Or did they mistake it for my voice?
Bottles don't hug back.

In the picture -
Did you see it?
A five year old boy bedecked in bow tie and plaid jacket,
Mouth forming a smile,
but eyes forming a scream -
Having just understood that another mother
conceived, brought him into the world,
and gave him away
(to wonderful new parents!)
Cheerful birth announcements read:
"I wasn't expected - I was selected!"
But who is Baby Boy "Smith?"
They say I cried frequently,
at least until I could be trained to scream
silently.

For the record -
have you read it?
Soul screaming, like fine wine,
becomes more sophisticated with age.
Yessir, nosir. Yes'm, no ma'am. Piano prodigy.
Honor roll. All-American boy, Student leader.
Letterman. Scholarship. Awards.
Whether from chemicals, sex, or religious highs,
if it numbed the pain, it was worth a try.
Difficulty committing wholeheartedly to
romance, friends, career, God or self
(as whom to love thy neighbor),
for fear of re-abandonment
(which, therefore, was subconsciously arranged).

Who the hell is Baby Boy "Smith"
and why won't he stop screaming?

In your heart -
Can you feel it?
The alienation. The disconnectedness. The rage.
The powerlessness
over life changing decision made before I had
The ability
let alone
The right to agree or object.
The desperation
for one glimpse at anyone genetically like me.
The willingness
to bankrupt myself for one hour of honest conversation
with The two people who gave me life.
The fear
of perpetuating an unknown hereditary disease
or marrying a relative whose name
The law
says I may not know
because someone's privacy may be at stake.
The deep resentment
that a man whose name is preceded by
The word "Honorable"
may be content to let Baby Boy "Smith" scream for his
mother until The two of them
are only commerated by headstones,
and
The three of them stand before
The One
who champions love, truth, justice, orphans and is
truly
The Judge.

Can you see anything?
Can you feel anything?
Do you hear anything?
I've heard Baby Boy "Smith"
all day, every day for thirty four years.
Please help me
to help him
stop screaming.
The longer we wait,
the louder it gets.