((AN: MOAR poetry.
Eventually I'll just create a post for all this.))
I hear them in my nightmares still
Jeering voices, pointing fingers
Telling me that all my efforts
Blood and sweat, tears and lies
Weren’t good enough for them.
Aren’t good enough for God.
A decade after they all have passed
The dreams of them still torment me
Worthless. Childish. Your effort means nothing.
You’re still only half a person.
You still can’t help but cry.
Is it any wonder then
That of torture I am not afraid
Of agonizing lashes of pain
Of whips and chains, of loves lost
Of twisted monsters in the dark
I have known enough of pain
Not to fear a little more
For one shining golden chance
At bathing in the cleansing rain
For the acceptance and love I lost
To greater monsters long ago.
