That feeling, to be pushed away; shoved more like. It is such a burnt feeling. Always completely unexpected, as if too good requires some random and mad destroying. For years I felt so awful trying so hard all the time. And then getting no where. I remember when I finally gave up on ever winning my father’s love. You just give up. You get sick of the rejection. You get tired of hoping. Only to be severely let down. I was the age I was when I met Mr.Page; my seventh grade teacher. The one who died of AIDS just two years later but nobody told me. I turned to Mr. Page at that age; eleven going on twelve. And he saw it. He saw that I’d just never was going to get my dad’s love— I guess he was gay. He looked like Freddie Mercury, I’ve said; but he saved me then…. he was like a dad to me but he knew how to reach me. He tried. Nobody else ever did and he only adopted his favorites so, Steve was his other favorite, my English big love who threw me down on the ice the first time we met. But you get sick of the rejection. You give up. You get sick of feeling bad. You just don’t want to feel bad anymore 

After that it became that broken yellow brick road I wandered off