To define suffering is to define feeling.
Everybody hurts, everybody loves,
Everybody discovers rage and sadness.
But suffering bears the disguise of pressure,
And preys on our insecurities.
Do you notice that woman across the street?
She wears the loveliest flower dress,
And earrings made from gold.
Her children with the rosy cheeks
Squeal as they play in the yard.
Her husband comes home at the brink of dusk,
With a heavy head and dead arms,
And pecks her on the cheek on his way to the door.
She is the politest woman you know,
And the prettiest one, too,
She could never utter a single word,
If demeaning it would be.
She's always cheery, willing to give a hand,
But her eyes are distant and thoughtful.
You assume there's something on her mind,
But don't bother to mention it.
And besides, she's probably concerned about making someone's life spectacular, as she always is.
But look closely. She is a woe-man.
Pride is too stubborn to admit a disease,
And so every day, the pain ,
And she wipes away the silent tears every morning.
Admission would not prove only shame,
But to blame the husband is pure blasphemy.
Such a tragedy to watch her deteriorate,
Until one day, she doesn't step outside.
An ambulance comes howling,
And her fragile figure is lifted away.
Did you look closely, were you expectant?
Did you notice that youth on his bicycle?
I bet you misjudged his intentions.
A snarky person beside you,
Whispers quietly the town gossip.
Oh, but that's the boy accused of the worst!
The one awaiting trial for the crime unspoken,
Against an innocent, pure girl.
His piercings appear threatening, now,
His set face a sign of evil,
His acne proof of malevolence,
And his clothes expose his rage.
The rumour clouds your vision with hate,
How dare he waltz the streets with pride!
This kid's a foul, selfish rapist,
For a eternity he deserves to be locked away.
But look closely. He is abused.
There's no denying his dreadful act,
But he is not the criminal here,
For what you don't know is that way back home
Something ugly's out to get him.
Never did you meet a man as his father,
And I prey madly that you never will,
He's a psychopath of the repulsive kind,
Addicted to sex and drugs,
A fetish for teasing the lower class,
Of his own-ranked hierarchy system.
I wish you could understand that youth's pain.
See, he has aspirations, too.
But with the looming cloud of lost innocence
He's abandoned all hope.
The scar he carries,
Carved deep through his memories,
Might not be serious or life-threatening,
But they're fresh.
He remembers with scary detail,
When his dad went off the rails-
When the air consumed the silence
With screams of him and that pure , pure girl.
He recalls those beautiful eyes-
As he plunged into her,
Whilst his father cheered on drunkenly-
Full of inexpressible, confused pain.
Did you look closely? I doubt you did.
Do you notice that child at the park you walked by?
Did you see him there all alone?
I guess he's hiding from his parents, you reason,
And keep on walking by.
He looks so miserable, swinging alone, kicking the ground to push off dejectedly.
So you stop.
You're reminded of those stories-
The lesson's you've learned.
And for a second, you consider not approaching,
But his blues change your mind.
Did you look closely? I guess you did.
It doesn't take long before he spill his guts,
The poor kid needed guidance,
There was nobody he could turn to,
'cept a stranger who stopped by.
He explains to you the source
Of his everlasting troubles-
His parents ignore him, his grades are low,
And the school kids pick on him.
You chat until the sun is low,
And you make that boy a promise:
That from now, on, you say, whilst giving a number,
If you ever need help, I'm a phone-call away.
/NOTE: Please rip it apart. I want to make certain that I haven't screwed up the tenses. c:
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