Perhaps in moving forward I outran time, and left years dying in my mentality.
Years of living in a dependent way, and not making choices.
The years that made words easier to say, and friends easier to make.
They were lost upon me in solitude.
I was left in books and knowledge for too long a time.
Words in a book will state what people want, but words on a page speak volumes.
The poems we all wrote in those ages of contempt.
They milked the venom in our veins to make it so we couldn't ****.
Though I never wrote then, and I didn't show the venom I felt it.
What most call hate was apparent in me at a much younger age.
Though I know it wasn't hate, but I didn't then.
Contempt or disdain is how I'd refer to it now.
She was the only person who I could feel it towards, and I am no better for that.
She gave me life, and I still can't stand the relation.
I bit my tongue as she tried to buy me, work me, and what she'd call care for me.
This not nor will be a person I can in my right mind, call anything positive.
I couldn't stay in a place where the voice of authority was more a child than me.
I have trouble with acknowledging her as who she is to me.
I was given a fire that nearly burned her away, and though I am not proud of it.
I would have just watched the fire with the same eyes I have now.
People cool me down though, those people called friends.
They spoke of understanding rather than disgust, though confusion was there.
How could one burn someone so close, and how can they just talk about it?
It concerns some and scares most, but some know why I burned.