The Problem
The problem is not me.
It's you. I'm not
Defective, not fit only
To be thrown out like
A garment with too many
Holes and rips in it.
You're the one who ripped
Me and filled me full of
Holes, tearing into me
With hate and neglect
Instead of love.
The problems is not
Where I live. What
I do. How I talk.
What I wear. How I
Look, where I go,
Who I am, who I love,
Not even my aching bones
Or joints old before
Their time or body
So tired I feel older
Than you were or mind
So tender sometimes
It cannot take normal
Everyday living in
Its stride.
The problem is
The way you made me
Feel as if I had no
Wor
The Problem
The problem is not me.
It's you. I'm not
Defective, not fit only
To be thrown out like
A garment with too many
Holes and rips in it.
You're the one who ripped
Me and filled me full of
Holes, tearing into me
With hate and neglect
Instead of love.
The problems is not
Where I live. What
I do. How I talk.
What I wear. How I
Look, where I go,
Who I am, who I love,
Not even my aching bones
Or joints old before
Their time or body
So tired I feel older
Than you were or mind
So tender sometimes
It cannot take normal
Everyday living in
Its stride.
The problem is
The way you made me
Feel as if I had no
Wor