Jul 2019
Plot twist...how does painful suffering bring about success how do you use your trauma to propel you into a successful space how does your trauma make room for you and open the doors that wouldn't otherwise open how does your pain become a key that unlocks your destiny you have no idea of my past but take a good look at me and don't underestimate my history logically you may think my life began with a golden spoon however soon you'll be ****** into an ugly tale of travail that would make the tear ducts of your eyes swell there'd be enough water to make a sail boat sail
I choose the pace of a snail so you could feel each tap of the nails that held me hostage my pain lasted for years yet the reason is unclear don't sneer let's be clear as mud you be the judge stand in front of a chair your mom is standing there judge and jury surely a real crime has been committed some one drank the orange juice who did it in the same chair that I ate in my fate was sealed in chasten
I refuse to hasten this was my life for years save the tears theres still more to go and I'm purposely going slow do you know what it's like to have food in the cabinet and you can't have none of it how about learning the difference between cereals sounds unreal I'm not going to chill my doctors keep promising this is the way to heal and I ain't missing no meals imagine having to steal applesauce yeah the ones in cans yeah the government brand called again to stand in front of the chair to recieve my mother's stare as she sware she brought us here shed take us out there wasn't any doubt she had the clout she was about that life imagine the days we were locked a way during the hottest of days upstairs without any play then you may get a glimpse especially if you were whipped for taking sips from the bathroom faucet and the only cause was because you took it upon yourself to pause my mom threw paws to get us from the sink less than a blink that door was open and it wasn't what you were hoping I wish I joking or mispoken but this is my history and its dear to me it makes me me I can recall being locked in a unfinished basement minutes spent this was punishment maybe that's why I cried the night they locked me in a cell I grew up in what felt like hell a childhood was lost in this tragic tale I go the pace of a snail so you can feel each tap of the nails that held me hostage accosted daily with pain that would drive a normal kid insane imagine the fear when I had to return here not sure of mothers mood imagine the fear that exudes from an eight year old without the normal scold or how cold I felt my mother was was she on drugs did she drink how low did she sink thats what I like to think when I would get beat with everything but the kitchen sink there were two by fours iron ores and detention cords for chores and possible bore and although I swear that I'd never make my daughter stand by the chair I have no idea how to get there this is the pain I bare as I reflect on my kitchen chair 30 years have passed and I'm finally amass the strength to take a second look I'm killing the childhood crook I wish my mom could read my book she's my child hood crook....
I choose the pace of a snail so you could feel each tap of the nails that held me hostage my pain lasted for years yet the reason is unclear don't sneer let's be clear as mud you be the judge stand in front of a chair your mom is standing there judge and jury surely a real crime has been committed some one drank the orange juice who did it in the same chair that I ate in my fate was sealed in chasten
I refuse to hasten this was my life for years save the tears theres still more to go and I'm purposely going slow do you know what it's like to have food in the cabinet and you can't have none of it how about learning the difference between cereals sounds unreal I'm not going to chill my doctors keep promising this is the way to heal and I ain't missing no meals imagine having to steal applesauce yeah the ones in cans yeah the government brand called again to stand in front of the chair to recieve my mother's stare as she sware she brought us here shed take us out there wasn't any doubt she had the clout she was about that life imagine the days we were locked a way during the hottest of days upstairs without any play then you may get a glimpse especially if you were whipped for taking sips from the bathroom faucet and the only cause was because you took it upon yourself to pause my mom threw paws to get us from the sink less than a blink that door was open and it wasn't what you were hoping I wish I joking or mispoken but this is my history and its dear to me it makes me me I can recall being locked in a unfinished basement minutes spent this was punishment maybe that's why I cried the night they locked me in a cell I grew up in what felt like hell a childhood was lost in this tragic tale I go the pace of a snail so you can feel each tap of the nails that held me hostage accosted daily with pain that would drive a normal kid insane imagine the fear when I had to return here not sure of mothers mood imagine the fear that exudes from an eight year old without the normal scold or how cold I felt my mother was was she on drugs did she drink how low did she sink thats what I like to think when I would get beat with everything but the kitchen sink there were two by fours iron ores and detention cords for chores and possible bore and although I swear that I'd never make my daughter stand by the chair I have no idea how to get there this is the pain I bare as I reflect on my kitchen chair 30 years have passed and I'm finally amass the strength to take a second look I'm killing the childhood crook I wish my mom could read my book she's my child hood crook....
