Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

When my moods change without prediction, I withdraw into my shell.  Like an ostrich obstructing its arrest, I plant my head safely into the ground.  Although life has thrown me curveballs, planting many obstacles along my path,  I rose above the rain to reign resilient.  As the sole male heir-apparent born after four, fiercely independent daughters, my parents' religion and culture collided to overwhelm me with a list of duties, and obligations.  Until my father took the downtrodden road for deadbeat dads, creating a strong, empowered single mother out of the waif he left behind. Mom fought hard day in and out, wreaking havoc on the system, her education taught her tolerance, and blessed us with integrity, and wisdom.  Calm prevailed for a short song, until addiction dug its ugly claws into my sister's broken heart.   At twenty-three, her lungs, kidneys, and heart stopped, and set her free from the LUPUS that medical research seemed t...

Broken down, like cardboard boxes. You break me down, it's poison; toxic. No matter what I do I can't get over you just give me the cold shoulder. It's freezing. I'm Arctic cold. You broke my heart of gold. Shattered it like shards of glass, had me crawling through crab grass. The pieces;  my pieces  are all scattered. You paint me with the same brush, as the rest,  like I don't matter. I'm slipping away now, like a cartoon banana peel. Your words cut me with their logic, though you're yet to ask me how I feel. Granite countertops,  and ceramic tiles, fill our household,  devoid of smiles. They laughed and said  I'm from a broken home,  little did they know, I am all alone. A father? I've only known daddies. The ignorance hurts me quite badly. You reached out, a single arm, like it was a token of your chiseled charm. This paint is dangerous,  the asbestos in these walls cause me harm. Daddy issues now,  at ne...