I feel I am , or am trying to be,
A different man, than I'm destined to be.
Though not my fault ,
the way I was built,  a scared and hurt child alone in the filth.
Quickly it grew the hate inside me , for long it was there, for all to see.
My anger my pain on show for the world,  thinking I'm bad,
when really I'm hurt.
Inside of my stomach it ripped me with fear,
leaving me blind to the good that was  there,
The things I saw they molded and shaped me,
the stuff I endured it helped create me.
It's never about what happened before ,
carrying hate will hurt you more.