This is, as far and long as I can remember, the first work I've ever written to be completely about me. And it has been hard for me to try to put what I remember of my life into this. So I apologize if it is hard for some to understand or picture in your mind.
Bright spot in the world
Could you come even on colder days?
With teardrops on a mother’s face?
Thrown you into the swirl
Into an unsure, racist world
Only love held you from evil ways.
Never should you have known so soon hate
Gentle hands, they tried to
Hold you down and sooth your wounds
After the infliction from a tortured soul
Teardrops fall like rain
As the world starts to fill out with pain
All eyes they cry save for that cold pair
That, hot, stern stare
The wounds you feel at his hands
Angels should never feel such
Cry you never should have done
Was not your fault don’t say that.
Poor soul, why so mad
Why’d the world get you so sad
What are those wounds you try to hide?
In the mind, not on your body
What are you afraid people might see?
Lash out not at your Angels
They weep for you like Angels do
Don’t you hear them crying?
Don’t you not see them flying?
Angels they should always be aflight
Never mourn on the ground
Teardrops from them painted you red
Was that all you would let yourself see?
From glasses painted over with blood?
How many drops would stain your soul?
How many days would be darkened by it?
Sweet, little mad boy
Were your only friends’ lifeless toys?
Did you not have associates to call comrades?
And who was it you wished to replace your dad?
Stumbled you did in this time
Not your fault, not your crimes
Monster you are not
That’s what was told to you
Still anger can cloud your image
Letting your wings wither and rot
Still they see you as one of them
Teardrops fall all the time
Echoing in Silence
Tired man, why worry yourself?
The world cares not for your health
Or do you need to tend to your loved ones
Begging you to care for yourself
Why do they worry themselves to death?
See the world, this mad cruel world
Paint the pages with your words
To the tired, sad, and hurt.
Let them read of things of imaginings
Heal the wounds with your works
Help them with your pain and art
Angels always deserve a fresh start
That’s what Angel once told me
As she told me the lives of three
Living in one hurt body
Still showing signs of life
We all stumble a little
We all lose our way in the life
We all fall down and bruise ourselves
Getting up makes life special
Overcoming our strife
We all stumble a little