On days like this, when my inner child howls to be let out

And I have to put my back against the door and keep it shut,

I wonder all over again if it's really just me.

"Comparison is a stealer of joy"

But how do I know joy if it's not compared to the sadness

That is my life?

How do I choose which memories to dwell on if I don't check and balance?

Sometimes I badly want to rage and burn and fuck it all

But I more than anyone understand how much hurt that brings

"But what about my hurt?", I of course ignore.

A maytr no one asked for and never acknowledges.

But then I wait and hope that one day, they breech this door I've sitting up against,

And raze everything to the ground until it's no more,

The unfortunate thing is, I know it's not going to stop the hurt,

But I want it anyway.