Stinging Silence

It was never the words they used that hurt.
The cavalier half baked insults they would spurt
From the tainted mouths of the sweetest angels like water on a hot summer's day.

I never cared about the expressions on their faces,
The almost frenzied look in their half dead eyes,
Using unadulterated force as a half baked disguise,
Pushing back against their demons who told them such lies,
Yearning for control in an uncontrollable world,
Wanting to break free and go places...

It was never them that hurt.
It wasn't the bruises, the names or the daily torn shirt,
It wasn't being huddled in a corner covered in dirt,
Praying to the god I no longer believe in,
Asking him "why can't they let me be?"

Until I realised;
It was never about me.

It was laying in my bed in the dark,
Alone with my thoughts
The silent night ringing,
The painful reprieve
The realisation of my hypocrisy silently stinging,
The real reason to grieve.
I had it better than them,
I would be free.
I was not to be trapped in a place I was not meant to be.
How could I, a girl born with such privilege,
Not my money,
Not my means,
But my mind,
Judge those that the world so fondly pillaged?

I had a mind that I knew in the depths of my soul,
And still do,
That will lead me to the thing that they so desperately fight for,
Control.

I cried for them then,
And I cry for them now.
I give them the sympathy that life wouldn't allow,
And I wish every day that I could speak to them somehow.

But cest la vie,
Life will go on,
And I can only hope that the battle they fight will someday be won.