Aug 17
You only live once in life.
No lives have been earned the grain of salt.
Critiques from unfamiliar people and sources that drain the sink of my decay.
The soul that lives in fear of criticisms and judgement.
It’s a scary world out there, I fear that adults tell you the wrong information.
Frame it on the hierarchy of your bed and call it a day’s worth a done deal.
That’s my case that I live with eternity and eternally.
Certain adults in my life look at the child, not the one looking behind the frame for its child.
A missing mother and a few other things have touched my heart.
A few other things haven’t touched my soul, take that in.
I get this sudden urge of perception that people throw their hurt onto other people.
One person was afraid of me talking to people like that, but I fear they don’t know me.
I fear that their perspective inside of their minds is only growing in the short runs.
Long runs I stay gone entirely, basked in its all glory and beauty.
I take it this world thinks silence = nothing, or alone = lonely.
I take it from not a lot of people that people are angry at me.
People hold their torches to the side and they are angry at me.
Not gently or kindly they are angry at me.
Not sorrowful or understanding they are angry at me.
I fear that they are angry at me.
They almost spill a million words onto their plates, expecting to catch each one of them.
This is a child’s perspective.
This is that perspective.
A perspective that is often ignored or suppressed in this day of the world.
That oftentimes decades in its own way of history I lived past.
I got this perception in my pocket that people yell at me.
They yell at me and tell me things I already know.
It’s scary to me.
A child’s perspective.
A child’s perspective.
It is all well and done.
They laugh and threaten themselves.
They change themselves because of their mother or father.
I fear that they lack self-reflection.
I fear that I am not one of many alone in this conversation.
A child’s perspective.
I fear I lack all of those support systems that went down the drain.
Now it’s scary, I have one or two I hold onto.
A child’s perspective.
No lives have been earned the grain of salt.
Critiques from unfamiliar people and sources that drain the sink of my decay.
The soul that lives in fear of criticisms and judgement.
It’s a scary world out there, I fear that adults tell you the wrong information.
Frame it on the hierarchy of your bed and call it a day’s worth a done deal.
That’s my case that I live with eternity and eternally.
Certain adults in my life look at the child, not the one looking behind the frame for its child.
A missing mother and a few other things have touched my heart.
A few other things haven’t touched my soul, take that in.
I get this sudden urge of perception that people throw their hurt onto other people.
One person was afraid of me talking to people like that, but I fear they don’t know me.
I fear that their perspective inside of their minds is only growing in the short runs.
Long runs I stay gone entirely, basked in its all glory and beauty.
I take it this world thinks silence = nothing, or alone = lonely.
I take it from not a lot of people that people are angry at me.
People hold their torches to the side and they are angry at me.
Not gently or kindly they are angry at me.
Not sorrowful or understanding they are angry at me.
I fear that they are angry at me.
They almost spill a million words onto their plates, expecting to catch each one of them.
This is a child’s perspective.
This is that perspective.
A perspective that is often ignored or suppressed in this day of the world.
That oftentimes decades in its own way of history I lived past.
I got this perception in my pocket that people yell at me.
They yell at me and tell me things I already know.
It’s scary to me.
A child’s perspective.
A child’s perspective.
It is all well and done.
They laugh and threaten themselves.
They change themselves because of their mother or father.
I fear that they lack self-reflection.
I fear that I am not one of many alone in this conversation.
A child’s perspective.
I fear I lack all of those support systems that went down the drain.
Now it’s scary, I have one or two I hold onto.
A child’s perspective.
