Outcast (Poetry)

I look back long and hard
down the road of memory
I go there often but
it won’t remember me.

Always the odd one out
among close kith and kin
a cuckoo of a child
I never did fit in.

Our house haunts the odd dream
I think it always will
it didn’t want me then
it doesn’t want me still.

It failed to feel like home
I didn’t quite belong
and no one urged me stay
or noticed when I’d gone.

There are no welcome arms
or voices waiting for
my sentimental knock
on that long-bolted door.

The past has let me go
thin blood ties since erased
and no one dreams of me
I’ve vanished without trace.