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I know you, you were too short, you had bad skin, you
couldn’t talk to them very well. Words didn’t seem to work, they lied when they
came out of your mouth. You tried so hard to understand them, you wanted to be
part of what was happening. You saw them having fun, and it seemed like such a
mystery almost magic, made you think that there was something wrong with you.
You’d look in the mirror trying to find it, you thought that you were ugly, and
that everyone was looking at you. So you learned to be invisible, to look down,
to avoid conversation. The hours…days…weekends, ah the weekend nights alone.
Where were you? In the basement? In the attic? In your room? Working some job
just to have something to do? Just to have a place to put yourself? Just to
have a way to get away from them? A chance to get away from the ones that made
you feel so strange and ill at ease inside yourself? Did you ever get invited
to one of their parties? You sat and wondered if you would go or not, for hours
you imagined the scenarios that might transpire, If they would laugh at you, If
you would know what to do, If you would have the right things on, If they would
notice that you came from a different planet. Did you get all brave in your
thoughts, Like you were going to be able in there and deal with it, and have a
great time? Did you think that you might be “the life of the party” that all
these people were ganna talk to you, and you would find out that you were
wrong, that you had a lot of friends and you weren’t so strange after all? Did
you end up going? Did they mess with you? Did they single you out? Did you find
out they you were invited, because they thought you were so weird? Yeah, I
think I know you. You spent a lot of time full of hate, a hate that was pure as
sunshine, A hate that saw for miles, a hate that kept you up at night, a hate
that filled your every waking moment, a hate that carried you for a long time.
Yes, I think I know you, You couldn’t figure out what they saw and the way they
lived, home was not home, Your room was home, a corner was home, the place they
weren’t, that was home. I know you, your sensitive, and you hide it because you
fear getting stepped on one more time. It seems that when you show a part of
yourself that is the least bit vulnerable, someone takes advantage of you, one
of them, steps on you. They mistake kindness, for weakness, but you know the
difference, you’ve been the brunt of their weakness for years and strength is
something you know a bit about because you had to be strong to keep yourself
alive, you know yourself very well now, and you don’t trust people, you know
them too well. You try to find that special person, some one you can be with,
someone you touch, someone you can talk to, someone you won’t feel so strange
around, and you found that they don’t really exist, you feel closer to people
on movie screens. Yeah, I think I know you. You spend a lot of time day
dreaming and people have made comment to that affect telling you that you’re
“self involved” and “self centered.” But
they don’t know, do they? About the long night shift alone, about the years of
keeping yourself company, all the nights you wrapped your arms around yourself
so you could imagine someone holding you, the hours of indecision, self doubt,
the intense depression, the blinding hate, the rage that made you stagger, the
devastation of rejection. Well, maybe they do know, but if they do, they sure
do a good job of hiding it. It astounds you how they can be sooo smooth, how
they seem to pass through life, as if life itself was some divine gift, and it
infuriates you to watch yourself with your apparent skill in finding everyway
possible to screw it up. For you, life is a long trip, terrifying and
wonderful, birds sing to you at night, the rain and the sun, the changing seasons
are true friends, solitude is a hard one ally, faithful and patient. Yeah I
think I know you.
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