“those who suffer know the struggle”*
I am a broken tinker crying inside,
tending to other people’s wounds
and letting mine open wide.
I cram my woes into crowded mounds
then I sit on top of them, guilty and tired.
I feed upon the clamor of the sick,
and I thrive by making a living out of it.
My shoulders are for tears and for generous treats
my words are reserved for those in need.
I spend my days fixing people up real good in no time,
willing them to bellow their suppressed sighs.
And though I might seem incontestable and bright,
good god, I’ve lost all my faith I once had inside.
Yet, I still dream about the day when everything turns around,
When somebody will hear the quiet sound of my shouts,
someone to do me the things I want be done for me
someone to whisper me what I used to say for people’s bliss.
And maybe it’s sad but it’s comforting to admit-
that I only stay alive just to wait for this to happen to me.
In the meantime, I walk as a tinker with a dying mind,
I feel as free as a man ****** by his own kind.
When i say ‘it’s fine, you’ll get better you’ll see’
what I really want to say is that
I just pray you don’t end up like me.
