Me to him:
Too Much Too Soon
I pour my heart out to the stranger who walks by
Mere eye contact, and my life's story is yours
My empassioned expression of my experience
Flows from me like a river
A captive audience to to bask in my eloquence
Knowing nothing of me but that I think and feel
A stranger touched in their soul
By my provacative cadence
Yet, I am as a stranger to myself
When those closest to me would speak
Deprived am I, in my muted existence
Of the exchange I crave, from them
I would that you know me as they do
So that, with even the clumsiet phrases
My soul could be touched in return
Instead of my gift falling on deaf ears.
Him to me:
I used to think that pain existed to remind me I am alive. A measure to undeniably identify happiness. Why else would it be here? Why else would I have met with it time and time again? Surely someone heard my cry. I know they just didn't answer for my own good. They really love me, love of the deepest kind, tough love. I'll be better prepared than anyone else, pain will be no stranger to me.
I have a mightiest of measuring sticks now. Where is my happiness? I do not see it when so many others do? Is something wrong with my eyes? Is something wrong with my head? Is something wrong with my heart?
There is nothing wrong with me. Everyone else is wrong. Happiness is a mirage used to mask the sight of pain. I know why they cling to it, they were never prepared, they were never received love of the deepest kind.
I saw him hit my mother,
I saw him hit my brother,
I never felt it when he hit me......tough love
Women, wine, and song for he the rest of us will have free cheese......tough love
Weed, speed, or anything you need.....tough love
Another dirty old man with dirty old hands and a love for young boys......tough love
You can make it go away, all you have to do is pray (LOL).....tough love
Broken man or broken boy ?????