30th March 2009

Yes, old familiar bright yellow building.
A sprain in my wrist, a cut on my hand.
A strain in my back,
     a cure for the itch.
I’ll keep looking in your direction,
for you won’t come after me anymore and I won’t let you.
I’m a bit too warm for the heat;
     a bit too numb for the pain.
I could dream more when I was little -
I could read more if I were home.
I could sit up, stand up, if it weren’t for you.
     You lied.
     And through it all, somehow I
     could never be free, or feel that you
     held me back from the person I could really become.
I hold my breath as I walk past a cemetery;
I cannot forget how you took away that voice,
     left me with no choice.
If I could tell you when i was little that I never
     wanted to hear you or ever see you then maybe,
     just maybe -
     I’d never know you.