they couldnt tell me/ said they never knew
& wouldnt/ cuz shed nevr tell
my childhood abuses/ & whether i
waz raped/ or beat/ or touched
where baby girls shld nevr be
(more) they knew tho/ that i had seen things
no baby girl shld see/ cumin home
sum 2 yrs old/ before i cld remember
to safe & sound & we'll
protect you frm the monsters
hauntin yr immediate parental lineage
merciless like/ & vowin sum cruel
YOU COULD BE THE SAME
without permission/ frm my guardians
just 2 yrs ol/ cum home/ this
granbaby/ so happy/ dont know
she shldnt hav to deal wid/ mommy
schizophrenia & daddy nevr there
cum home to home away frm home
& out the blue/ all sudden like
this quiet babys screamin/ cryin out
bout how she loves sum little toy
animal/ all stuffed/ for chils play
not jazzin frisky ladies/ in heat
in mid july/ & shes jazzin that toy
lil granbaby girl/ so fulla her joy cuz
she dont even know/ & now shes
I know when to throw an elbow
I can shoulder roll a right cross
I know how to take a low blow
But the gloves came off faster than I'd ever dreamed of
You've always had me backed against the ropes, boy
(more) But you'll never have me knocked out
I won't fall for you again
There's no time left to lose
And I ain't got shit left to prove.(less)
Have you noticed how adults never talk about dreams? When was the last time you heard an adult say "I have a dream"?
It sounds stupid coming out of their mouths.
You see, dreams are for children. For youth. To speak about them is like giving(more) a part of yourself hope. And all real adults know that hope is just a tendril lost to the constant spinning and churning of the world. So they don't voice their dreams. They never will.
Somewhere along the way, they've stopped believing.
All those motivational posters and calendars nailed to their walls might as well be painted over. Because when you've had something in front of you for too long, it stops being different and blurs into the background. And like the growing pile of read-and-unreplied-to mails sitting in your inbox, it becomes non-actionable.
Young people who take up jobs for the sake of having them end up, more often than not, sitting at their desks murmuring "Some day, some day, some day..." till they've turned flabby and grey and found that all they have left to cling to is the dull routine of their unenriched lives. Too soon, they've given up doing new things to settle for 'stability and security'. They've lost track of who they were or what they wanted from the world. They've stopped acknowledging their dreams and eventually they'll forget they could ever see them.
If you've also noticed, the adults who DO talk about their dreams are almost always childishly enthusiastic about them. You can see it in how they are continuously sketching, colouring and sharing their fantastically-out-of-the-world dreams, in the way their eyes light up when they speak of them, and most importantly, in how they don't sound stupid when the words come out of their mouths.(less)
Nothing angered me like being second to another man, I had been fooled into falling in love with a tramp. It was only a matter of time until another so-called friend helped me learn the hard way that she never loved me, when I found them fucking each other(more) on my own bed.
I had walked into what, until now, was my room to see two people I had thought were my friends. They were horrified to see that I caught them red-handed and she opened her mouth to berate me,
"I found real man! You're pathetic! I never loved you and I never will!"
I was about to scream and slap her, when suddenly I felt nothing. An idea popped into my head and I looked at peace and spoke,
"I forgive you, honey. I'll let you two finish what you're doing, and then we'll talk."
They seemed taken aback, and I left the room to their devices. A few minutes later they were at it again, and I allowed it so I could have a few minutes to gather a few items of mine.
I closed every window in the apartment, then I went into the kitchen. I could hear them moaning in ecstasy, my bed slamming up against the wall. With a knife in hand, I pushed aside the gas stove and cut open the hose with a painfully intense smile, and then slid it back as hot tears of rage blurred my vision.
I exited my apartment and stood outside the door for a few hours, patiently waiting for the treacherous fiends to be silent. Hearing nothing, I laughed maniacally and curled up into a ball and cried and started stabbing myself repeatedly in the stomach until acids leaked out and I vomited hot blood.
The low rumble of a hungry stomach was one of life's greatest torture techniques. Castor would have begged for an iron maiden this time around, if they'd just give him a slice of stale bread and some butter, maybe a small cut of burnt black meat.
(more) He did not regret running away from home, for he had dreams, and how can you achieve your dream if you aren't willing to risk your life? He dreamed of becoming a great Blacksmith, the greatest in all of the Highlands Kingdoms. But no man would take a poor boy on as his apprentice, not without him proving himself to them, and the starvation was not helping his cause.
Castor lifted himself up and meandered down to the nearest market, begging for scraps from every merchant he saw, and stealing bits and pieces while nobody was looking.
Savoring a small hunk of cheese in his mouth, Castor spotted out the largest hunk of goat he'd ever seen, so thick and meaty and juicy. It twisted over the spit, and Castor's mouth watered, practically drenching his small clothes.
"You hungry, lad?"
A thick jawed man, with curly black hair, looked down at him through one good eye. "Aye, never did a roasting goat look so fine..."Castor sighed.
"You've got quite a pair of arms there," the man said, leading him over to the spit. "Let me get a leg," he threw a handful of silvers onto to the stall. He turned back to Castor, "Let me ask you something boy, do you know how to work a forge?"
Castor's eyes lit up, "A forge my lord, yes, yes I do."
"I need a strong lad. Work for me and you'll never will go hungry again," the smith smiled.
Just as those who came before never succeeded, those who come after never will either. In this age of war, fear and tyranny, the oppressed shall never rise, never stand and always crumble. This was until, one day, when all the slaves, servants, finally gathered, and saw in the(more) sky, a red star twinkling. (less)