A White Washed Childhood
I see the life I used to live,
Through his eyes my childhood is,
Broken mirrors, I can't look back,
A perfection so perfect, my heart retracks,
Like walking back through time, the atmosphere feels,
So inadequate, so unreal,
The picture painted perfect but far from true,
Have I lowered my standards for living proof,
Have I lived this life to prove less is more,
And not have the best of the best, to pretend to be poor,
So you would never view me better than you,
And I could never intimidate you from being real,
I forfeited luxury, the painting of perfection,
Because I saw the dirt outway the cleanliness in the mirrors reflection,
And spotless was a cover-up my childhood showed,
An assumption to others she looks happy, ya know,
To good to be true, rich paints the pretty picture,
Yet underneath it all, this little girl felt tortured,
Contemplating suicide everyday,
Behind that beautiful house was a soul in pain,
No money could satisfy, not one heart could see,
Behind closed doors, the abuse that reaked,
The image was beautiful, everyone assumed,
But I never could enjoy it, I locked myself in my room,
I could not stand the perfection, the atmosphere was a lie,
I would rather run away than look perfect in societies eyes,
I would choose to look poor, and hear the truth,
It was better than the image with the torture you put me through,
Dear God, why are you bringing me back to this horrible place?,
Showing me the depth of my confusion, my old childhood pain?,
I walk out this mans door with tears in my eyes,
This image scares me, do I deserve better in life?,
Will it bring back the nightmares of the white washed tomb?,
Please Lord, help me to understand, what should I do?
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