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Eight years old,
Every day at school,
I get kicked and pushed around.
Too many times my face has hit the ground.
But I get up and laugh it off
But when I got home I cried.

Twelve years old,
Each day at home,
And mum has left dad now.
Too many arguments, too many rows.
But I go on, pretend I don’t care.
But when I’m alone, I cry.

Sixteen years old,
Every day at school,
And she left me for that *******, Josh
Just because he’s got money and he’s posh.
But I go on, with a smile on my face.
But when I see her, I cry.

Twenty-one now,
I’ve got my degree,
With knowledge in my hands.
No one there to congratulate me,
How much neglect can one man stand?
But I go home and put a note on the fridge
About how Josh’s mum cried.

Twenty-eight years old,
And I’m happy,
Got the girl of my dreams by my side,
A ring in my coat pocket, a surprise, I’m trying to hide.
I’m down on one knee
And when she says yes,
She cries.

Thirty-six years old,
She left me,
Took the kids with her too.
She didn’t hear me say, ‘But I still love you.’
But she did not love me anymore
And in the kitchen I cried.

Forty-five, overweight.
Nothing in my life to live for,
Daughter-hates me. My son thinks I’m a ****.
I’m tired of life, beating me with a stick.
But I must stay strong around people.
But when no one’s around, I cry.

Sixty-five and nothing’s changed.
No wife, no friends, no hope.
The only difference is, I’m balding.
And with no one around, I get no scolding.
But I wish to be shouted at, any interaction would be nice.
But in the limelight of the television,
As I sit alone. No future in my vision,
I close my eyes, and I wish to finally die.
I sometimes stand alone and stare
at time worn face and wayward hair
that frames green eyes with brightest red 
and do not recognise myself

Where is the girl that once belonged
to laughter, dancing, love and song
who always saw with lovers eyes
and sugar coated all her lies

She lingers somewhere far from here
a memory vague to those held dear
too long she has been kept apart
from you, the captor of her heart.
Nicola Andrews Apr 2014
Cut me down and read my
Ageing rings of knowledge.

— The End —