We are still the children painting pictures to hang on the fridge,
but now it’s too late to start over.
Too late to pick a different color.
Every stroke is a different future and every drop a different reality.
The fridge is full of regrets and the temperature is rising.
Ice cream trucks have become cop cars,
Pixy Stix have become drug addictions,
and riding your bike has become staying home and raging wars inside your head.
We are still the children yelling sticks and stones may break my bones,
but now we know words can always hurt you.
We still want so desperately to make a genuine human connection,
Like our first day of school.
The only difference is that now we know the consequences.
My consequences were actions caused without reasons. Class clown all I ever cared about being.
Follow the leader instead I was just the follower. I yearned to be the “cool” kid.
I scream “fuck off” to those that tried to be an authority figure.
Speeding down the highway, carelessly drunk and high off cocaine
There’s no way the cops would ever stop me
Drink after drink after drink. Slowly this was my demise. I had a choice to crash or pull over.
Charles wake up. Wake up! My life was on a crush course. But the child inside was hurt and all alone. Please show love and compassion for that’s the painting on the fridge.