The Forgotten Child

The other day my son and I were sitting down at the table. I watched him while he ate his breakfast because he likes company when he eats.  While we sat, I began to reminisce about my grandparents and some of the things they used to say and do when they were alive.  One of the expressions my maternal grandmother used to say about a relatively thin person who seemed to eat a lot, but yet not gain weight, was such a funny-sounding kind of oxymoron, that it took me a while to ponder on before I was able to understand the meaning.  Even though the expression may not make much sense to a young mind when first heard, on the day I sat across the table from my oldest son while he ate his breakfast, it made perfect sense to me.

My grandmother used to tell us all the time when we were young, "you eat so much it makes you po' to tote it."  Some Southerners will get this, while those in the North will write if off as just another one of those mindless sayings they say in the South, but simply put, it just means that no matter how much you eat, your weight goes nowhere.

Thinking back on those times we used to run around Grandma's house, I also remembered how Grandpa used to relate to me as opposed to the other grandchildren.  His feelings for me, or lack there of, were quite sour.  As a matter of fact, he was not fond of neither me nor my mother, and she was his child.  My mother and I used to put our heads together and wonder if it was due to the rumor that she was the daughter of the neighbor across the street.  This rumor carried around the neighborhood and among my grandmother's friends, and was seemingly confirmed when the very neighbor, who so happened to be one of my grandfather's friends, told my mother when she was eighteen that he was indeed her father.  Both my mother and I were inclined to believe this because she didn't look like her other brother and sisters, nor did she act like them.  She spent her childhood wondering why she was different, and singled out by her parents.

This is not to say that I believe my grandmother was some sort of worldly woman.  She was a woman strong in her faith; one who showed great love to her family the best way she knew how.  I honor her memory and feel privileged to be called her granddaughter.  She, along with my Aunt, was the one to rush in to my rescue the time my grandfather lifted a blunt object to strike me in the head with.  I was only about eight or nine and couldn't understand how the sheer sight of me angered him so much.  All I wanted was his love.

Sitting there across the table from my sixteen year old, I began to remember all of these things.  I sat there engrossed in my thoughts while confessing to him my experiences.  I told him of the time when I was nine and my maternal grandfather was handing out loose change he typically kept in his pocket to all the grandchildren.  I sat on the sofa watching at first, not thinking he would even consider giving me any because he usually shewed me away. But then something came over me, a sudden hope that this time would be different.  I longed for his acceptance more than I realized, and it was that hope and longing which propelled me from my place on the sofa to go and join the circle around him.

As he took his time counting out change and extending it to the little hands waiting to be filled, he got to me and stopped.  The glare in his eyes reflected sheer contempt and he told me to go away because he wasn't going to give any thing to my "Gerald-looking a#!."  Yes, typically when my grandfather spoke to me, his initial response would be followed by a series of expletives, and for some reason, he never referred to me by my name.  I was always called by my father's name because everyone said I looked so much like him.

I pulled my hand back and returned to my spot on the sofa.  All the hope I had conjured was now gone as I sat back and watched as the rest of the kids get their portion of the change. There would be more times where I was left out from the gifts my grandfather shared with his grandchildren, but that one in particular has always stuck out in my mind.  It was a turning point for me, because it was then that I determined in my little mind  I would do everything I could to get him to love and accept me the way I did him.

I didn't really know much about my paternal grandmother at the time. My parents divorced when I was four years old, and both of them lived in two different states.  But, what I do remember is a night when my parents went out and left me, along with some of the other grandchildren on my father's side of the family, with his mother.  I called her Mama Lucy because she had sternly warned me to never call her grandmother.  She said that she wasn't anyone's grandmother, though she really was, but at the time she was still grasping for a fleeting youth.  Any way, on this night at bed time, I remember getting really excited because Mama Lucy was inviting all of the grandchildren she had to come and sleep with her in her bed. Everyone there was privileged to be around Mama Lucy all the time, I was the only one who lived out of state, and therefore; didn't get to see her as much.

I watched as all the little bodies scrabbled into her room.  Then I got up and proceeded to follow them, but before I could make it past my grandmother's bedroom door,  she stopped me.  I was told that I couldn't fit in the bed with the rest of the children, and that I would have to go and make a place to sleep on the living room floor.  My face fell, and I found it impossible to hide my heartbreak.  In my little mind, I had been rejected in favor of the other grandchildren even though I belonged to her as well.

When my parents came in later that night, on the floor is where they found me, curled up in a little ball, trying to stay warm.  Of course, my father blew a gasket and asked why his child was the only one on the floor.  My grandmother had told him that I wanted to sleep there.  I knew this not to be true, but I refused to speak up about it.  I figured if I told, it would just be a strike against me, and if I was ever going to earn Mama Lucy's love, tattling would not be a good choice.

When I was done reminiscing, I looked over at the face of my son.  He looked just like I had on the night my paternal grandmother made me sleep on the floor, and the day  my maternal grandfather denied me his gift of coins.  I was suddenly struck by the sadness he was feeling, not because of what happened to me, those things no longer bother me, but because my story had such a profound effect on him.  As his mother I would never want him to feel left out the way I did when I was growing up.  It would make me feel an indescribable devastation.  I live my life so that he doesn't have to know the pains of not knowing how special he truly is.  Every child deserves that.

I thank God  I am no longer affected by the hurts in my past; hurts suffered from my own family.  Sometimes the very ones you think are there to protect and care for you, can be the ones who make you feel the most insecure.  Growing up, I tried my best to please those I loved in hopes that it would make me more acceptable.  I am just learning now, as an adult, that there is no way I am able to please everyone all the time.  The most important thing is to be secure in who God made me to be, and try my best to live peaceable with people.  If who I am is not acceptable to some, even those within my family, I have come to know that it is okay, I am still called good by Him who made me.

Dinner for One?

No one wants to be alone.  Connecting with someone outside of ourselves is a natural human need.  We all know the fear of being left behind.  We have all felt that aching need not to be the last one picked for a team on the school yard.  Many of us also feel the flush of embarrassment when we are forced outside of our comfort zone and have to dine alone for lack of company to share in the experience.

I used to be among those who felt as if all eyes were on me from the moment I hit the restaurant door if I came in by myself. I had never experienced dining alone until I was fully grown.  Even then, the urge to run out before anyone I knew saw me, picked away at my resolve. Yet I was determined to "be a big girl," with confidence enough in who she was for it not to matter if I had a person sitting next to me just to eat.

There were many first to be experienced as I entered adulthood. Not only did I take on the fear of being seen out alone, I also went all the way out and took myself to a movie.   Mind you, these "alone" experiences happened during pregnancy when my husband was off at work, but the change in hormones provided me with an outlet of minimal self-consciousness.  I no longer cared if I was seen out by myself.  I was happy to be doing something I wanted to do without having to submit to the insertion of another's opinion on what else I could be doing. I was having fun too!

So why do we have this natural need to connect? The answer is simple... We were made that way. Everyone knows the story of The Garden of Eden.  Even if you're not a Christian, you are familiar with it.  In the garden, Adam was enjoying all the bountiful blessings God provided, but even with everything he could seemingly need, God made him a mate because he said, "it is not good for man to be alone"(Genesis 2:18). Adam needed a partner to commune with, because God did not see among the animals, or the trees something that was suitable to Adam for companionship.

You see, God built in us, from the beginning, the desire to gravitate to a connection to another human body.  We need these connections in our lives to grow, to endure, to support, and to help us. The list of reasons can go on and on. This is not to say we can't function in society alone, we just function better with company.

Studies have shown that those who live alone actually have a longer life expectancy when they have a pet (ie: dog or cat) to care for, and even communicate with in some shape or form. Though pets may not supply the same type of connection as one human would to another, they do provide a listening ear and warm body which can help us to cope with the dread of being alone.

 I believe denying ourselves connections with others outside of ourselves is a deprivation of what is necessary. Some do it all for the sake of what they categorize as "independence." They become a type of hermit in a world full of people. But why do that when such richness can be found in bonding with others inside of a relationship?

Most people, when they hear the word relationship, typically think about the one between a man and woman, but relationships are so much more.  They are friendships, brotherhoods, sisterhoods, acquaintances, mother/daughter, father/son... All of these are important in the fulfillment of life.

Many will say that we can't make it in this world alone.  And though physically we may survive, mentally we won't be living.  The connections I have with my family and friends run deep.  My best friends also happen to be my sorority sisters.  I cannot imagine a life without their influence, their support, their listening ear, or their help.  If there are any out there who can vouch for the notion that they have made it in this world all alone, I would certainly like to see the list of names.  My belief is that it would be a taxing effort to find them.

*photo provided by: raykiwsp.wordpress.com/2014/10/21/i-wish-you-great-companionship/

Setting Our Children up to Fail

Its so amazing how I JUST wrote about the dangerous turn our society is taking when it comes to rearing our children, and within a few days I'm elbowed in the face by one of the students at my school.

This incident happened all out of the blue.  I was walking down the hall after my last class, looking forward to a peaceful lunch break, and time away from the hustle and bustle of the middle school educational system.  Walking down the hall, I remember joking around with a couple of young ladies I have in my classes.  I was smiling real big, and thinking about the sandwich I was about to order from one of my new favorite sandwich shops just across the street from my school. 

 When I turned the corner, I saw nothing but chaos playing out in front of me.  The PASS teacher was being dragged behind one of her students, calling for him to stop.  He was trying to run away, and she was struggling to hold on to him.  Being a fellow teacher, of course I stepped in to help her.  The student was twice her size in height and weight, and being that she and I are both 5'2", adding my extra body support was only going to be a questionable means of stopping him; yet it was worth a try. 

He was leaning almost completely forward, and I didn't want to take the chance at being tackled by standing in front of him, so I came to his right side and hooked my arm into his.  My effort was to try and slow down the velocity of his movements. It worked for a quick second, and I held on while asking him what was wrong. The PASS teacher had lost her grip by this time, and it was just me and him.  He was working even harder now, trying to get away, and I dragged behind until he pushed back with the arm I was holding him by, and clipped me on the right side of my face near the chin with his elbow..  This is when I chose to let him go. Though there was no pain from the impact, it  rattled my teeth, and I decided at that moment, it was better for me to let go than lose my temper just to keep this kid from running.  I only prayed that he would not attempt an escape, and run away from the campus.

The PASS teacher and I stood back and watched as he ran through the building, dodging other students as they made their way down the hall to the cafeteria.  We then made our way to the Counselor's office to report what had just happened. After we left, we went back into the hallway in search of the student.  By this time other teachers, and an assistant principal were running through the hallway as well trying to find him. I made sure the PASS teacher was okay before going to find the security guard and alerting him to what was going on. Then I pulled my purse up on the hook of my arm, slid on my sunglasses, and headed out of the nearest door.  It was past time for lunch, and I needed to get away from that place for a moment.

A day later I was approached by another student asking if I was okay.  I, of course said yes, and proceeded to ask her why. She tells me that the student who was running through the hallways the previous day had posted on Snap Chat that he had punched me and the PASS teacher in the face. She retold the story about the post as if he were bragging about what he had done. I was left to wonder, after hearing her story, how it was that he was still allowed phone privileges after the stunt he pulled at the school, and also how truly valid her version of the story was.

I spoke with the PASS teacher, and went to pay a visit to the Assistant Principal about what I heard. I was deeply concerned that my name was possibly being used on a social network site in a slanderous manner.  The Assistant Principal told me the previous day that I could press charges against this student for what he had done, but I declined to do so because I felt it was an accident, and again I didn't get hurt.  On the day I went in to report what I had been told about the Snap Chat post, she told me that she understood my concern, but didn't want to go and talk to him on his first day back in an effort not to upset him.

You see, though this student knows right from wrong, and is fully cognizant of what he did, he would not be receiving any real consequences from the school because he is in the PASS program and has a BIP. For those in education, you know what this means.  Apparently the Behavioral Intervention Plan allows for the enabling of the fantasy world in childhood in exchange for reality preparation. 

This student is being protected from the harsh consequences of reality in order that he may grow into the societal menace we are so readily preparing him to be; at least from my perspective. Yet we wonder how prisons are almost bursting at the seems, while the drop out rate for continuing education never seems to disappear. 

Where is the accountability?  When I was growing up, I remember learning it early on.  I was taught respect for my elders and self control.  Sometimes these lessons had to be learned in unpleasant ways, but I am better for it.  If discipline produces go character, then I see no reason to hold it back. There are many policies and procedures in place to protect the student, but what procedures are set up to protect the teacher? If one bad teacher ruined it for the many, and now all of us have to be subject to abusive behavior by students AND their parents, how many bad students will it take before they offer us safety?

Old-School Parenting

What has the world come to when adults walk around afraid of their kids?  That's backwards!  There is always a certain level of respect in fear, and today we seem to be teaching our children that they are the only ones worthy of the respect.

I don't understand this new age way of parenting. I guess I'm too old school.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm apart of the last generation who was actually scared when a teacher told me they were about to call home and tell my mother about my behavior, or grades.  I knew if a teacher called home, my mother would come along side the teacher to make sure that my grades were straight, or my attitude was adjusted. They worked together!  That was the key.

Now-a-days, kids want you to call their parents so the parents can come up to the school and curse the teacher out.  What kind of accountability logic is this?  And in the school systems, what the parent's say goes.  This in turn makes the children feel as if they have power over the teacher.  Every thing done, or said has to be carefully examined, but the one who suffers the greatest consequence is the teacher.

I have personally been told what I'm NOT allowed to say by a student. Not that I would disrespect any student, but the fact that this particular student felt it necessary to come to me out of the blue and tell me  I was not allowed to tell them what to do; yet they spoke in such a disrespectful manner, not only to me, but other adults, gave me pause.  I had to wonder who it was that taught this child to have such an attitude of entitlement.  My mind could only race to one conclusion. The parents...

The nightly news reported on the arrest of a young single mother who was called at her job by by a witness who had seen her children attempting to break into a neighbor's home.   Her response was to leave work the moment she found out, and return home to reprimand her children.  She chose to discipline them by using the good old-fashioned trusty method.  A whooping.  After doing this, one of her children, who said they had been taught in school to call the police if their parents hit them, did just that.

Without taking into considerations the mother's side of the story, the police came to her home and arrested her.  Watching the tears stream down her face as she explained to the reporters the whole ordeal bothered me.  She told them that she was only trying to keep her children from falling into a system that had already claimed the freedom of their father.  She felt that by going home and immediately handling the problem with corporal punishment, she was showing her children that there are harsh consequences which follow a choice like the one they made.

She went on to explain that her discipline was not cruel or excessive, but necessary in order that her children (young black males) would not have to face the brutality from the current  legal injustice system on the Black community.  Personally, I agree with her logic, especially being the mother of two young black males myself.

After seeing their mother arrested for what she felt was giving them proper parenting, what type of mindset do those children have now?  Law enforcement, in that case, did those children an injustice, because now they feel entitled to go out and repeat the same action without the consequence of having a mother ready to perform her job as their parent.  They have been empowered to be entitled, and this is my problem with the way American society is raising up their children.

Not long after this mother's arrest, and elderly grandmother was arrested for swatting her grandchild's behind.  This time the grand daughter called the police because her grandmother swatted her for speaking disrespectfully to her.  This woman was picked up by the police like a common criminal, and she didn't even have the luxury of full mobility.  Who comes to pick up a grandmother and takes her to jail simply because she didn't want to be disrespected in her own home?  American law enforcement to the rescue... I guess.

I cringe to think of the world we face in the future with the types of children who are upheld in their wrong by the so-called justice and school systems.  If we are not making it our jobs to teach today's children about respect and discipline, what type of world will they be prepared for tomorrow?  I am certain they will not be equipped to face a law enforcement they are sure to encounter with the type of teaching that tells them they are entitled to behave the way they want without any serious consequences.  Yet, no one is telling them how serious the consequences get when they grow up and attempt to do the same things they did as children.

So far, from my point of view, those parents who are too scared to raise their own children, either through intimidation from lackadaisical rules impressed upon them from an outside source, or just plain scared of their own children, better get ready to be cared for with the same recklessness they've allowed when they become senior citizens.

Its not too late to steer this ship called parenting in the right direction though.  Old-school parenting does not always entail beating your children into submission. As a matter of fact, I don't feel that is what is meant when the term is used.  It is a stigma attached to the phrase, but what is really meant by old-school parenting, is the demand for respect when you are in the position to do so.  Everyone needs to know the harsh realities in the consequences of their choices, otherwise; they are prone to repeating mistakes, or worse, not learning from them.

Don't get me wrong, I am a firm believer in NOT sparing the rod. If the Bible says it will spoil the child, as a Christian, I must believe that corporal punishment, done the right way, is good for a child.  Especially if the lack of it is said to "spoil the child."  No one wants to deal with something that is spoiled.

I believe society as a whole in America is getting it wrong when in comes to the direction we are taking in rearing our children.  I myself have noticed good, polite, obedient, and respectful  foreign children becoming Americanized in school settings where they are pressured to feel assimilated to fit in.  These children have gone from valuing the privilege of an education to the irresponsible behavior in the lack of hard work being taught to them by their peers.  They have also lost the discipline in self control which had been instilled in them before they came to this country.  This is a harsh reflection of a fault in our own values. So when are we going to turn things around?  The direction we are sending our children in is dangerous, and change is dire.  If we do not become more strict with our discipline we hurt not only ourselves, but the children we are trying to send off into this world.

The First Signs of Love

picture provided by:  http://weknowyourdreams.com/love.html

Have you ever been in love?  If so, do you remember how it felt when it first happened?  Many believe that love is just a feeling, but as you grow and mature, you learn that love is more than the butterflies you feel fluttering in your stomach when that special person walks into a room.  Love is an action word. It is something that requires more than the sudden quickening of the heart.  It is constant work, and many may not be equipped for the task.

I remember being in college, free from my parent's roof and rules for the first time.  My mother had told me to keep myself free from the bonds of a relationship.  I was young and just beginning my journey into adulthood.  There would be plenty of time in the future for me to settle down, but for now I was to enjoy my freedom.  I took that to heart, and fully expected to go out and get to know people on a different level than the ones that bound me to a commitment.  This is not to say I planned on being "loose," I just wanted to date around without being tied to one person.

That all changed though, not long after I started my Freshman year.  I met a guy who was a musician in our school's gospel choir.  He was not what I would call conventionally handsome, but he had a good head on his shoulders, and he had goals I admired. The bonus to me was that he had his own apartment, and he was a very clean housekeeper; this showed a plus in his character.  

I never expected to fall for this guy the way I did, and it happened so suddenly I didn't have a chance to try and resist it.  One day I was lying around in my dorm room with nothing to do but think about him, and was hit by something I had never experienced before. It was as if it just dropped out of the sky and landed on me.  I knew immediately that what I was experiencing were the first signs of love.  I had found it in the most unexpected person, because when I entered the relationship with him, we both agreed that we would not get too serious. But there I was, spellbound, and totally smitten.

I told myself I would never admit how I felt to this guy.  At the beginning of our relationship, he confessed to me that he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend, and at first, I was okay with that. Unbeknownst to him, he wasn't the only one I was dating. I knew though, that things were getting serious just as soon as I stopped seeing that other person, and started spending every free moment with him.

We carried on in our relationship as if we both felt the same way about each other, but I knew better.  Like a fool, I continued seeing him, even though he told me that if it wasn't for his ex-girlfriend, I would be the one.  That was him blatantly admitting  I was second in his heart, and I allowed it because of my love for him.  He did eventually come to learn of my feelings, but not through me.  I had confessed this deep secret to who I believed was a trusted friend, and she soon went and told him what she promised me she never would.  I knew his only source of knowing came from her, because not only had I not told him how I felt, I had not told anyone.  It was a secret I kept close to my heart.

Everyone thought we were this happy couple, what with him coming to pick me up on Sundays to attend church with him, or bringing me and a friend to his apartment so that he could cook for us.  He also helped me escape the tediousness of campus life by picking me up for movie nights at his house.  My overnight bag stayed ready.  We seemed happy, but on the inside I was miserable.  With me being so new to love, I felt that if that was how love was; to place second in someone's life, then I didn't want any part of it.

I knew it was over one day when I called him and he told me he was sitting there with his ex-girlfriend.  She was in town and wanted to see him, and he was all too eager to oblige her.  I thought on this for a while, then realized it was time for me to let him go. The one thing I could be grateful for was the fact that I had never shared myself with him on a physical intimate level.  It made the process of a break up a little easier; although it was still a struggle.  He fought against it, and if I had given in, he would have won, but eventually, with my persistence, he was able to let me go.  It was then that I met who would go on to become my husband, and who I call my one true love

With my husband, in the beginning stages of our romance, there was no second place.  We were both caught up in that thing called love, and it seemed we couldn't get enough of each other. The broken pieces of my heart were gradually mending back together as I spent time in the company of who I now call my first TRUE love.  There is no better feeling than the one you have when your love is reciprocated.

The beginning of our relationship was so passionate, I was almost overwhelmed by the intensity.  Yes, we did follow the cliche acts of not being able to get off the phone with one another unless the other had counted to three, and then giggled when it didn't happen. We would even keep the line open just to hear the other breath while we took sporadic naps throughout our conversations. I was experiencing a security I had never known.  Growing up in a single-parent home, with no active father in my life, I desired to have the male companionship that went along with the acceptance of who I was no matter what.  I was grateful to be able to finally experience it with who I believed to be the man of my dreams.

In the beginning... Its a term one hears a lot in a relationship.  In the beginning things were so beautiful.  In the beginning he treated me like I was special.  In the beginning he took me out more. In the beginning she used to cook for me all the time.  In the beginning she dressed up more...  Why is it that all the good stuff in a relationship always seems to happen "in the beginning?"

When my husband and I first got married, we set out with goals that would help deepen our bond throughout the years of marriage.  The one thing we said we'd never consider was a divorce, but as time goes along and challenges face your relationship, divorce sometimes seems like a welcome relief as opposed to the pains of working on building a solid commitment with someone who no longer makes you happy.

Over time people change, some grow up, and others just seem to only grow old while trying to hang on to to a youth that has long since been fleeting.  The powerful thing about choosing to stay when everything in you is telling you to run, is that you are able to overcome all the obstacles meant to not only tear apart your relationship, but tear you down as a person.

Character is built in the midst of adversity.  How you handle the relationship you vow to stay bonded to "till death do you part," says a lot about who you are inside.  Who is it you want to see staring back at you when you look in the mirror?  Is it someone you can say fought as hard as they could with strength from God to defeat those things meant to break you down?  Or is it someone who cowers at the face of adversity, and jumps on the first thing smoking out of the relationship?

I am the first to admit that fighting for a relationship is hard.  It is taxing on the mind, and the heart, but you have to determine within yourself that it is worth it, because when its all said and done, it will be.  The key is to re-do those things that you did IN THE BEGINNING.  Its a practice which can easily become apart of the norm in your relationship if you set out to make it a priority.  Practice makes better, and anything you do for 21 days becomes habit; habit in turn forms a part of our character, and the type of character you have determines the outcome of your future.

For those who long, like me, to experience the butterflies you had when you first fell in love with your mate; you can have that.  You don't have to go out and find somebody else to do it either.  Start with a new attitude, AND KEEP IT.  Then exchange the things you're doing now for the ones you did to catch your mate's attention .  IN THE BEGINNING. I promise you your relationship will feel brand new even with the same person if you do it right.  Its all in the approach, and endurance you have to go along with it.  Don't wait on the other person to change first.  Start today with you.

Butterfly Dreams

Photo provided by: Pintrest.com

In as shell    
Trapped inside
I grow to learn
That I must hide
Inside these dreams
And longings to be
Set free to become
My true me
I wait for a crack
An opening of light
To give me hope
To continue to fight
What of these dreams
I have every day?
Are they to be lost
And washed away?
The light has not come
All hope seems yet lost
I am left to wonder
If its all worth the cost
Then I hear this sound
A grinding roar
My hidden world erupts
Fear draws me to the floor
Should I stay well hidden
Inside this dark shell?
Being trapped seems to fit
I have freedom to not fail
But the urge, it still haunts me
Its grip is still strong
If I'm to escape
I must carry on
The roaring won't stop
Filling my pit with its noise
"The time is now here!"
Cries this bittersweet voice
I hear this great boom
As light fills my space
The warmth of its beams
Caresses my face
I stretch my whole body
And burst through the shell
Crawling out to a freedom
I crave to know so well
Inside of this liberty
I'm overwhelmed all the more
My wing-span is boundless
And my dreams, they can soar
This colorful beauty
Is mine all alone
I've finally made it
I can fly, I am home...


*To those who want to fly, but think they can't... You will...

We

I don't regret anything
I don't
Do I wish I could go back
And change the depths of time?
Yes
If I could I would
And never meet you in the first place
Because the feelings
Were too good
Raw and fresh
Shameful and bliss
And I could never take it back
What's done is done
Absolute and complete
There is no changing that
So I don't regret anything
Not one thing do I regret
I just react

There are many days
logged into my memory
That I steal inside of
When life gets boring and or tough
See everything you were to me
Does not sit ill so easily
Inside the depths of my being
Yet everything we are together
As a whole
Leaves me feeling so sickly
I almost need to be
Hospitalized
Medicated inside the care of my Master's arms
Only His touch is healing

Each day that passes by
Every changing of the seasons
I grow to love you less and less
Then more and more
Depending on the shift of the wind
The current of electricity
Refuses to release its hold on me
Though I struggle to be
Set free
From the grip in the depth of its seas
I can't let go
Not yet at least...
Because not only am I holding you
I find continually that you won't let go of me