Insight to a tortured mind.
My eyes are my window,
They show how I feel.
If you looked at then closely
You’d know what was real.
That the smile I wear
Is there to save face.
That the tears I have cried
Is what it replaced.
If you looked in my eyes
The thing you would find:
The Insight into
A Tortured Mind.
The memory there
Of a broken up home.
I was nine when he left,
When he left us alone.
His kids do not matter,
His wife was old hat.
But it mattered to me
As a matter of fact.
The voice of my Grandad
Haunting my sleep.
When, before he got sick,
The secrets we’d keep.
My Dad’s leaving killed him!
Now hatred runs thick!
It was after he left
That my Grandad got sick.
The most recent picture,
That plays round in my head,
Is the day I got news -
When I heard she was dead.
I didn’t see it happen,
I can imagine the wreck.
A crack in the windscreen
And a crack in your neck!
It couldn’t be you,
Too young for the grave.
But my friend of just fifteen
No one could save.
I know there are people
More lonely and sad.
But they must be much stronger
‘Cause this is too bad.
I can’t seem to cope
With this meaningless life
And all of my anger
Comes out through a knife.
But nobody knows
‘Cause I smile and beam
They can’t see the scars
That lie under my jeans.
I can’t tell my story
Through poem or verse.
The words I am writing
Don't even come close.
So now all my sadness
Is locked up inside
My eyes are my window
Behind which I hide.
© REBEKAH SMITH November 2002.
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