I don’t know why I bother.
I write. I weep, in vain.
I’ll never be able to express or convey,
What’s pounding in my brain.
I say a word or maybe two.
You’ll nod your head, “Ah yes!”,
And I will nod, “Sure…yes”.
But the truth is that it angers me.
How patronizing can you be?
You know nothing of my life,
And I’m glad for it not to be!
You’ll never understand what it’s like to cry….,
Cry away years of your life.
To linger, strive, hurt, and bleed,
The blood from your own knife.
To only know that pain because,
It’s all you’ve ever known;
And never trust joy or happiness,
Forever feeling new and unknown.
But it’s my fault because I was,
Born to take a breath,….to walk.
Born a toy for everyone.
Toys don’t get to fight back or talk.
Toys are made to…
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