They do not see you
they do not see us
they do not see the way
we crawl through rubble each morning
fighting for a reason to roll out of bed
where sleep finally overtook us
so late at night we can’t call it that anymore
they don’t see the battle scars
carried in the bags under our eyes
the body armor built from scraps of misplaced affection
Bruised by the batering ram of conciousness
we trudge through day after wretched day
dreaming of soft pillows and warm sunlight
seeing them through eyes that are scarred
by sights too horrible to forget
buildings falling, people burning
the walking wounded
wounded for those no longer walking
dragging our feet through mud
no one but us can see
and we see it all.
They say we’re lucky
the wars are over seas
we don’t see the blood that runs in rivers
through streets from a child’s head
but we do.
we see the blood running in rivers from
our wrists, torrents of red tears
shedding pain we’ve forgotten how to feel
They say we’re blessed
educated from the day we’re born
priveledged.
But our education is not in academics
but in the best way to climb over others backs
peircing their spinal columns
with spiked heels
because to play the part you have to look the part
and to look the part we must please
the eyes that are looking
our education is in the stereotypes
the bigotry
the selfish greed of our nationality
They say we’re safe.
But they forget that not all battlefeilds
are full of soldiers and artillery
our battles were fought with words and smiles
tears and fists
our limbs are attatched but our dignity
fell into the crumbled dust of our childhood dreams
They say a lot of things
“Listen to your elders”
they whisper in our ears
but their whispers never stop there
they slither through our veins
reaching our fingers and toes
guiding our hands and feet
their hisses seeping into our ears
and out of our mouths
as we repeat what we are told
by the snakes
that dare to claim the right to lead us
as if they know what they’re doing
as if any of us
know
we don’t
and so the cycle continues
if a cycle it could be called
it more resembles a bar graph of time
one that only rises with each generation
each one being measured by
the big faces in the crowd
but noone remembers the ones that took the fall
the ones who sat in the back row
the ones who danced alone at their senior prom
because they were told they’d need the memory
the failures
the rejects
us
the tales they told us about ourselves
every day dripping from their blackened tongues
hiding behind diamond teeth
seeping slowly in and around us
staining our eyes
and peircing our hearts
the small precious parts
that we protect with walls built from sayings
sayings that told us that
we are what we make ourselves
that words cannot hurt us
that what people say cannot change who we are
but it did
because with each stroke
their brush changed the color of our minds
molding our clay bodies into
a new shape
one that fit the freakshow we were sold into
enslaved to our own individuality
being forced to see it as a curse
instead of a blessing
they do not see you holding yourself together
at 3 in the morning
trying in vain to block out the voices
the ones that scream at you that you are not enough
they do not see you
when suddenly the dam breaks
your eyes becoming rivers of pent of greif
streaming away and leaving a dry lake of self loathing behind
they do not see you.
but I do.
they do not see us
they do not see the way
we crawl through rubble each morning
fighting for a reason to roll out of bed
where sleep finally overtook us
so late at night we can’t call it that anymore
they don’t see the battle scars
carried in the bags under our eyes
the body armor built from scraps of misplaced affection
Bruised by the batering ram of conciousness
we trudge through day after wretched day
dreaming of soft pillows and warm sunlight
seeing them through eyes that are scarred
by sights too horrible to forget
buildings falling, people burning
the walking wounded
wounded for those no longer walking
dragging our feet through mud
no one but us can see
and we see it all.
They say we’re lucky
the wars are over seas
we don’t see the blood that runs in rivers
through streets from a child’s head
but we do.
we see the blood running in rivers from
our wrists, torrents of red tears
shedding pain we’ve forgotten how to feel
They say we’re blessed
educated from the day we’re born
priveledged.
But our education is not in academics
but in the best way to climb over others backs
peircing their spinal columns
with spiked heels
because to play the part you have to look the part
and to look the part we must please
the eyes that are looking
our education is in the stereotypes
the bigotry
the selfish greed of our nationality
They say we’re safe.
But they forget that not all battlefeilds
are full of soldiers and artillery
our battles were fought with words and smiles
tears and fists
our limbs are attatched but our dignity
fell into the crumbled dust of our childhood dreams
They say a lot of things
“Listen to your elders”
they whisper in our ears
but their whispers never stop there
they slither through our veins
reaching our fingers and toes
guiding our hands and feet
their hisses seeping into our ears
and out of our mouths
as we repeat what we are told
by the snakes
that dare to claim the right to lead us
as if they know what they’re doing
as if any of us
know
we don’t
and so the cycle continues
if a cycle it could be called
it more resembles a bar graph of time
one that only rises with each generation
each one being measured by
the big faces in the crowd
but noone remembers the ones that took the fall
the ones who sat in the back row
the ones who danced alone at their senior prom
because they were told they’d need the memory
the failures
the rejects
us
the tales they told us about ourselves
every day dripping from their blackened tongues
hiding behind diamond teeth
seeping slowly in and around us
staining our eyes
and peircing our hearts
the small precious parts
that we protect with walls built from sayings
sayings that told us that
we are what we make ourselves
that words cannot hurt us
that what people say cannot change who we are
but it did
because with each stroke
their brush changed the color of our minds
molding our clay bodies into
a new shape
one that fit the freakshow we were sold into
enslaved to our own individuality
being forced to see it as a curse
instead of a blessing
they do not see you holding yourself together
at 3 in the morning
trying in vain to block out the voices
the ones that scream at you that you are not enough
they do not see you
when suddenly the dam breaks
your eyes becoming rivers of pent of greif
streaming away and leaving a dry lake of self loathing behind
they do not see you.
but I do.