No one taught me self care.
No one even tried.
All I know of life and love
are broken home lies.

I learned all the wrong things,
like how to cry and scream.
Alcohol, antipathy,
and other violent things.

Sometimes I think of better days;
I like to play make believe.
I think about who I could have been
were it not all done to me.

How easily I would function.
How that would just come naturally.
How I wouldn't do the things I do
if I hadn't seen the things I've seen.

I learned how to stay alive.
No one taught me how to live.