I must not think of life; so some say,Life is short – it is gone – you recall,Yet you must if youShould make anything of it. Draw a plan; stick by it, so some say,But is that really living?Following a pattern youWrote in the past.Is that really living now? Then how do you think of lifeWithout recalling?Think ahead, so some say,But as soon as you do – you are there – it is gone.Life is short.
You once loved me and I acheBut word spreads its venom and did takeYour love and I faceEternity in heartbreakBut I fake a smileAnd chase the flies awayFrom a rotting love that is hate. A monster you make me and I acheFor I was once a man of business but you takeThat away and I faceA rotten life, for you breakEverything I own and call it fakeAnd chase me to the shadowsThat you grew out of hate. For, once a man of business,Now, a man of death.
I forgive you.These three words are not so hard to say. But should they be?You who have made me what I am today. Yet I forgive you. I forgave you then.I of seven – a horse to be whipped.A body to be shamed.And for Middle School I was ill equipped. Yet I forgave you then. And I forgive you now.You scarred me, but I didn’t know itUntil I was out, and fourteen I was. And still I was seven in a playground. You at the top and I at the [ . . . ]