American Buddhist Poetry Radio — Episode 1: The Wound That Keeps Repeating

Tonight I’m opening something new: American Buddhist Poetry Radio — a quiet room where truth is spoken without decoration.This first episode sits with a wound many of us carry in silence: the wound of unraised children.Not just fatherlessness or motherlessness, but the deeper ache of growing up without the presence, protection, or guidance we needed.This poem is my story — and the story of countless Americans.Listen gently.The Wound That Keeps RepeatingI was told my mother was nobody.My father was a forgotten word —never spoken, never claimed.Years passed like dim hallwaysin adoption homeswhere children echo louder than footsteps,and pain grows its own shadowwhen no one calls your name.Still, I moved.Still, I lived.Forward — even when forward meant nowhere.The neglect followed me,quiet, sharp,ignorance dressed up as parenting.The kind that wounds a childbefore he even knows what a wound is.How could I understand it then?How could any small, scared mind graspthat the people raising youdidn’t know how to show up,didn’t know compassion,didn’t know themselves?Even the ones who rented mefailed their own rent.Failed at money, at emotion, at love.And every failure fell into me,widening the silence inside my chest.I was a child who knew nobody,and nobody knew him.And when someone did show up,even for a moment,I clung.I loved harder.I sang joy like a prayeruntil absence came againand swallowed the room.This is the American wound:unraised childrenraising themselves.A sick cycle.A wounding machine.A story that keeps repeatingbecause no one is taughthow to stop bleedingbefore they’re handed a child.Stillness is rebellion.Compassion is a weapon.Peace is within.Carry all. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit monkmodesociety.substack.com/subscribe