Tristan Robert Lange

Sixes

Here I stand underneath

You, my dearest mother,

With such disappointment

And horror at my life

In this dark, twisted world—

Ready to climb on back,

Because I’ve seen enough.

I have come to lament

The salvation I’ve tried

To bring to a cruel world.

They’ve returned to the same

Hatred that shed my blood;

The world is still a sore

That scores wealth off the poor,

Gives love to those who hate,

Hates those who stand for love,

Gives life to the rotten

And rots out the living.

Father, please feel the angst

I pour on my mother.
Take back this broken plan,

For we were mistaken

In pretending the way

Was not a huge deluge.

One, then two, and then three,

I pray to my mommy

For umbilical rope.

Now four, then five, and six,

Knowing this can’t be fixed,

Back in your womb, I go.

I’m not their Valentine

Because they get presents

On my wintry birthday.

Six hundred sixty-six

Reasons why I’d rather

Reverse my birth this day.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.