As a child, I got mad
Being blamed that I was bad.
Then I’d run away and cry,
For the real child that was sad.
Didn’t want the tears to show,
Because then they would know.
I wanted no one to really see,
What was happening inside of me.
Both in my body and my mind,
How could they be so blind.
That anger is still in there,
The exact spot I don’t know where.
Tucked away real down deep,
Where forever I try to keep.
Not just anger, but rage,
That I was hurt at such a young age.
But there was no one I could tell,
Or I’d really catch hell.
That child’s mind, oh so young,
Couldn’t tell that what was done,
The anger would well up inside of me.
For the child I’d never really be.
Now decades later, all alone,
I still keep buried way deep down.
Until the day I’m feeling bad,
For the life I’ve never had.
Someone is very rude to me,
Not knowing what they will see.
That rage boiling to the top,
A rage that I cannot stop.
Things around me do get thrown,
For reasons that are my own.
Reasons that I cannot tell,
Or I’d be sent to hell.
~ van ~