I raise my glass to a person I once knew,

when adversity struck and profanity flew,

grew up surrounded and moulded by pain,

with an outlook on life, that was filled with disdain,

a broken home showed him everything he shouldn’t be,

pain, anger, fear, abuse, a medley of things a child should never see,

don’t pretend that you know me and say you relate to my pain,

not til you’ve walked a mile in shoes riddled with blood stains,

looking into the mirror, I sat there and swore to myself,

that I would grow up to be somebody else,

now I look into the mirror I see,

a vague description of what your mother warns you not to be.

But if you take the time and look past the scars you see on the surface,

you might even say that this pain gave me purpose,

so when you look in the mirror and you don’t know what’s looking back,

a version of you that has now faded to black,

does it scare you so much that you run and call your priest,

or sit back, pop a bottle and confront that beast.


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