Some of us just aren’t meant for this world we come in curled and twisted, tailor made for a label, a sticker on our head that sais broken. We are the ones who have to try harder, fight harder, love deeper to get our space at the watering hole. You judge us ridicule us villify and defile us but we are your sons and daughters with half a heart yearning for the missing piece. We didn’t ask to be misguided or forgotten or ignored. It happened and we cope the only way we know how. Things just seem to work out for some folks, some trip on crags in the concrete and rise up with bloody knees and ripped tees. No more band aids no more ice cream and kisses just shame and blame and pointy fingers prodding our bones like vultures infiltrating a carcass…so we cope…we scratch by…we surprise you with a momentary high…then we die.
By The Archetype