I'm a man of a thousand hardships
Experiencing pain is nothing new
Often due to the hands of others
All the **** they've put me through

But I've made good some goals despite it
Dodged the paths of unchanging misery
Even now things are looking brighter
And yet I still feel something obstructing

It was mostly you before
But now, maybe it's me
And my recent refusal
To take responsibility
Maybe it's just me
Causing my own agony
Problems won't solve themselves
I need to get up

I could spend a thousand hours judging you
And the pointless pain you put me through
But I have legs that can still move
And I can walk out of I'm willing to choose

So maybe it's mainly me
I haven't taken responsibility
Unwittingly added to my agony
And shaped my own dark destiny
So if it's now just on me
If I can admit to my faults
And say to my old ways, "No".
Some of my problems may just go

When I was a youth
I expected the world to be good to me,
I expected people to treat me fairly, kindly and justly,
and I was disappointed, hurt and angry
when I was treated unfairly, unkindly and unjustly.

Now that I am wiser
I realise
that people are broken and suffering
and struggling to cope with life,
and they care more about their own survival and pleasure
than they care about being kind, fair and just to me,
so I no longer expect the world to be good to me
and I no longer feel disappointed, hurt and angry;
Now I feel compassion for people
And I take responsibility
to treat people fairly, kindly and justly,
and I make my best attempt
to lead people to treat me fairly, kindly and justly.

When he left, it was never new to you. There was no such thing such as shredding of tears. There was no kaleidoscope of memories. There was no hopes urging you to pull him back. There was no poem written in your notebooks. There was no entry in your diary. There was no wishful thinking while waiting for the wishing stars. There was no such thing like trying to talk to him and discuss what and where did you go wrong, because you knew from the very beginning, everything was wrong.

And then you dated him. You talked about your recent scores in your quizzes while eating ice cream with him. You celebrated your 19th birthday with him, and it was magical, the nicest feeling you never felt for so long. You had long conversations at night with him that you even dared to each other who sleeps first must treat the other. You have shared about the little things that made your day happy. You both have prayed for true love you thought you both once have. You found yourself motivating him through rousing words and so he does the same way to you.You say every single good night every dozing off moments at 2 or 3 am. And while the rest of your family was in dreams, you were there beneath your blankets giggling at his corny jokes while yawning. Your smiles to each other was in utmost real when you bumped each other on the busy hallways at school. When everyone stares at you both because of your weird chemistry, you could not give a **** care at all. You realize you don't want the whole world, just him in it.

And when he left, right after your 19th birthday, it was never new to you. There was no such thing such as shredding of tears. There was no kaleidoscope of memories. There was no hopes urging you to pull him back. There was no poem written in your notebooks. There was no entry in your diary. There was no wishful thinking while waiting for the wishing stars. There was no such thing like trying to talk to him and discuss what and where did you go wrong, because you knew from the very beginning, everything was wrong.

With no throe in your heart, you accepted everything--the way you used to.

Let me take a page out of the book that gave you every look you passed me when I went about my life the way that I was taught

If you had only gone as far as lit my cigarette and smiled I would have given up the world for you and your trials

When you find your rhythm let me know, but I feel that you were never searching for truths not in your bestseller book

I’m sitting here still waiting for a turn to speak, but you’ve stuffed your ears with amnesia of history; it makes you free

I’m here looking at the sky; it’s my way to feel free for a bit of time, and it doesn’t hurt anyone, unlike yours

We were never in line, and it’s all fine, until you cup my mouth with all the force you gained from never having to think twice

Now let me take a lie out of your book and make it choke on all the tears that could have drowned your pages and made you realize

Shy and soft-spoken though I might be, there are ways to talk without speaking a single word and it’s worth a thousand photographs

Filling up the ashtray,
Mascara running down my face,
Already on my third glass,
Can't believe you'd do that.
To me.

I had a teacher once-
Actually, I had him for four years straight-
Who wasn’t quite like the others.
I hated testing with him.
He insisted it had to be individual,
So he could really know everything he had to know about us.
It’s only a few times every couple months
But still, it’s a nightmare no one is ready to endure
He’d take you into a teeny, tiny room
Lock the door. Lock the windows.
Pull all the shades down.
It’s very important you be alone, in a cocoon of privacy.
And you have to make music for him;
You never know what he’ll ask for
But once he asks you always have to do it,
Exactly how he likes it.
Even if how he likes it really isn’t right.
He calls you “darling”, “honey”, “dear”
But you know he doesn’t love you like he pretends to
Because it gives you chills, and not in a good way,
When he strokes your back or touches your shoulder or arm
He always has to be making eye contact with your chest
But that isn’t why none of the boys ever have to test.
All the girls get it though, have to wait in line for it
He stretches the process out so it takes weeks to burn through all the girls
I think he likes that none of them have a way of escaping;
I didn’t escape until right before I reached high school.
But I still call myself one of the luckier ones
Because most of his girls still haven’t escaped testing.
The tests will be extra long today. “We’re halfway to goodbye”, he’ll say.
“A lot to do today,” he’ll tell them. “You can’t escape this, line on up.”
He controls what you wear and how you stand,
He guides your arms, so they only go where he wants them to.
That tiny room is a prison, and I’m so lucky I escaped.
But the story will not end as long as I’m alive.
It was a few months after I set myself free.
I was walking down the street, feeling much happier than my 14 years.
And it felt like the world was pretty and fine.
Until I walked past a group of boys who thought I was pretty and fine.
They swooped in, catcalls aplenty;
I ignored them. Outrage.
They grabbed me.
And by time I was alone again, boys nowhere to be seen,
It felt like nothing was fine,
And everyone was a predator
And it forced me to dwell on the facts
That I don’t feel brave or strong anymore and…
That I don’t know where the old me ran off to and…
And…
That I’m not fine anymore.