A young boy grew up feeling incomplete
raised in a family which shunned his identity;
what mattered most was the family’s conceit –
to have one member be unique was unprovoked obscenity.
He spent half a life-time hiding behind a mask;
just to feel loved and valued was a Herculean task.
Never allowed to have needs or wants of his own,
he must please the family if he’d like love shown.
He’s going to feel quite fucked up when he’s fully grown.
Trying to re-learn a healthy self-esteem in his twenties,
wandering the world as a poor man
constantly counting pennies.
Just happy to be away from those he can’t stand,
trying to figure out this life
and what it is that makes a real man.
An ego balances on the tip of a knife.
He’s writing from scratch and he’s making a plan.
Then he finds himself a wife who cared just as little
as the family he loved back home.
His thick shell becomes more brittle.
Utterly destroyed after great humiliation,
chewed up and spit out by the one he chose,
and utterly betrayed by his family’s foundation.
He felt no highs,
and he drowned in his lows.
Treated like nothing by those he’d loved the most.
His image of the world shattered
his heart… beat, broke and battered,
feeling like nothing’s really mattered.
believing that fills the gaps-
quite nicely in the time-lapse.
Suicide looked more inviting
then a life that kept on biting.
He lived for so long thinking life was too short,
but it felt so damn long with a lack of support.
Wandering this world alone
with scars earned at every milestone.
He shed himself free of all insincerity,
no longer begging for the love of those
who only gave it when they chose.
A moment of heartbreaking clarity,
turned to months of monk-like austerity.
Unconditional love seemed like such a fairy-tale dream,
always on the hunt for the next’s ulterior motives;
every kind word seemed like just a scheme –
only begging to be noticed –
and it killed his own ability
to hold love dear with a sense of real stability.
It seemed the word, love, was never meant for him;
wearing his heart on his sleeve – he’d just lost a limb.
So now he guards that heart under lock and key,
because it seems such a dangerous game to he.
He felt that walking straight towards that love
was like a cow walking towards its slaughter;
until one day, blessed from above,
he was gifted with a daughter.
Then once again – his life parted with an old belief,
because he’d found his true love who might disband his grief.
And as the young girl grew she’d feel a strong love burning –
never knowing what it feels like to be alone and yearning.