It has been a while since paper and pen.
Been too long I don't even know where to begin.
The pain still lingers, the hatred remains.
I don't believe I'll ever be the same again.
Yet I hide it so well beneath layers of lies,
hidden for the most part from viscious prying eyes.
I want to have someone understand what I feel,
to know how hard it is sometimes to deal.
But why should I have to rely on the beliefs of those
who can't see beyond themselves because their minds are so closed?
So I stay up at night to put thoughts down in ink
to try and relieve some of the evil I think.
Such fury builds inside against others and me.
Why can't I just accept what I've chosen to be?
Only I can be blamed for the person I am.
It just seems easier to blame others and their malicious plans.
Tears will cleanse me, and I will cherish the pain
until the day comes when I won't breathe again.