30th March 2009
Yes, old familiar bright yellow building.
A sprain in my wrist, a cut on my hand.
A strain in my back,
a cure for the itch.
I’ll keep looking in your direction,
for you won’t come after me anymore and I won’t let you.
I’m a bit too warm for the heat;
a bit too numb for the pain.
I could dream more when I was little –
I could read more if I were home.
I could sit up, stand up, if it weren’t for you.
And through it all, somehow I
could never be free, or feel that you
held me back from the person I could really become.
I hold my breath as I walk past a cemetery;
I cannot forget how you took away that voice,
left me with no choice.
If I could tell you when i was little that I never
wanted to hear you or ever see you then maybe,
just maybe –
I’d never know you.