And she just wanted a little sunshine
Among this obscence malodorous mud.
She just wanted to hide in sun rays
From this dirtiness, from this crud.

And she just wanted to be joyful.
She wanted to laugh but not in hysterics,
That rippling laughter would wink with a smile.
She wanted a gladness, and no mysteries.

She also wanted a lot of snow,
So white, so huge, with snow banks!
But you found nothing better than damage all!
Aren’t you people? There’s nothing sacred!

And she just wanted a little happiness.
You were so stingy, and she would have shared.
She didn’t have grunge for you, she didn’t have meanness…
At the beginning… Look, what you’ve achieved that!  

Look, what you’ve turned the angel into.
She walks without the sun through the mud.
She’s lost, but she isn’t humiliated.
Why have you done all that to her, my God?!

All that she wanted was little sunshine,
A little warmth and simple happiness.
And you thought that it was ****** and silly.
You tore her soul to pieces! You’re merciless!

Torn to shreads, appalled and pained,
She still walks because she’s alive.
And you keep on spill all with mud,
Without seeing her, burn up and deprive.

Your hollow heart
Knows just where to hit
So it'll hurt the most

And maybe it's time
To learn how to let my
Guard high around you
Maybe it's time to learn
Some damage control

Before you knock me
Down for good...

Some people are just born to fight,
I think.

...

It's not that they're born brave,
Nor that they're born strong.
But that the universe has decided that this one,
This being will have grit
And fire
And steel in their blood.

And it shall be tested,
This cosmic mettle of theirs.
They'll face trial after trial,
be broken and damaged in countless ways.

But this one was born to fight.
Maybe it's not the life they would have chosen,
For maybe they'd love to lay down their arms.

Yet they were born to fight
For the weak.
It's what they know.
It's what they do best.
It's all they can do.

There once was a fella from Maine
Who added some drugs to his brain:
     He lost half his mind,
     And the half left behind
Was totally ******* insane.

"let someone in" their voice rang though my head.
flashbacks of how my soul died replayed over and over and over again through the fog of my memory.
they meant it so innocently, but he was so innocent when I let him in.
my arms were wide open, I told him to make himself comfortable when he entered the depths of my heart.
and god, did he.
his shoes were muddy but I didn't even notice, his smile distracting me.
he opened my books on the shelf of memories, leaving them scattered all over the place.... his smooth beautiful lies consuming my mind to a point where I didn't care what he did.
I let him trapse through my deepest secrets, my most intense thoughts, while he sat there and smiled saying how he loved me.
why did I have to believe him?
he laced his words with so much truth it made my head spin,
he was bringing parts of me alive that had died so many years ago and I thought he'd stay.... but I also thought he loved me.
but before I could even blink he had ran out the door.
the door which used to have a wall built around it with a lock.
a wall that he broke down, and lock he somehow managed to get through.  
he was a storm that had ripped through my whole being, leaving me even more damaged than before.
but it's okay.... I'll just 'let someone in' again.

"Ill do that" she said

She was so always eager to please

But then quick to anger

"No worries I'll fix it"
She always said

In return she got a warm smile

"I'll babysit for the coming years"she said

"I'll be a listening ear" she said

"What do you need help with " she said

"Have you eaten " she said

"You sick we need a doctor" she said

Then her cup got empty

She couldn't pour anymore

Yet she felt guilty that
she couldn't give,

That she blamed them for it

Her path became thorny

In return she tortured herself

Became her worst nightmare

And then she met him

He promised her love beyond this realm

That she was the purest soul he has met

What she was,still is ,is a torture device designed specifically for her

She should be validated

And he would make her understand that

He became he refill

A therapist she could divulge her secrets to

But she forgot he was human

She forgot her touch was sinister

She tainted him too

And he threw that to her face

And she couldn't blame him,or them  for that

Because there is always more to the story

She might be her author

But what she paints,what she writes

Would never be the full story

Because even she alternates between being a victim in her story

But what stays more constant is she must be the villian in this story

i tell myself not to chide you child  
not to berate you into a convenient obedience
yet....

just last Monday eve
i told your voice that it was shrill   like a hurt bird
(that cuts a career as Singer out of your future)

just yesterday
i told you graphically and with crazed gestures
about the dangers of the open upstairs window
(a future fear of heights may well be on its way)

and i remember once
i told your body that society frowns upon ******
(that'll ensure future embarrassment  shame
and ****** awkwardness)

i chide myself now
   these practices must cease