Better At Tragedy
Better At Tragedy
Feeling robbed of your childhood
is a pain that’s unimaginable,
with the mind of a teenager
ruled by the heart of a child—
I carry a crown,
asked to run the world;
expected to fit into societies standards
when all I wanted to do was play dress up,
pretend to be a happy queen,
I had always wanted to be—
and grow instead of loosing myself.
I am just not ready to conquer the things
everyone else seems to be conquering
Bills demand to be paid, hearts demand to be broken
and life seems to demand a sense of clarity
I cry to the stars for
yet still I wait;
& hope it comes.
Let’s face it, the real world
burns like a cigarette and kills you slowly
You work and work to survive;
women are thought to be objects,
and men are weak if they cry.
Everyone faces their own battles
in a world full of cruelty and war,
words tend to hit like shards of glass;
they’ll laugh as you bleed on the floor.
Picking myself up when there was no one else
to nurture me
is a familiar I hate to be familiar with,
it’s a record player playing a song I hate
yet know all the words too...
Though eventually,
we all dance in harmony,
sing with our hearts instead of our mind,
Because living the life we’ve been given
‘causes us to get better at tragedy
overtime.
-sm
