Monday, 14 November 2005

These Things Make Us

I lived my early life under the terrified possibility of random acts of violence, a world where people didn't cry, even the women. A life spent trying to stare death out and see who would blink first.

When you've nothing to lose you can leap for the sky and not care if the fall kills you.

In the words of Bob Marley: "Hit me from the top you crazy motherfuck"


  1. Where did you grow up? Irish women don't cry either.

  2. And now you get paid to cry. Life works in funny ways.

  3. PC: nowhere special, Nottingham but in an environment that was my onw self-made exile from a good life.

    Jessica: paid to cry? That's one of the best damn comments I've ever had on here.

  4. I also grew up in a society where it was wrong to cry as it makes others uncomfortable. I never cried when my daughter died. It has been nine years and I have never cried You have to be strong I am told, so I was for everyone but myself. Bullshit pure bullshit.


    The pain that rages in my heart,
    I live with day to day;
    A sorrow deep within my soul,
    That never goes away.
    The smile I use to mask my pain,
    Hides tears no one can see;
    For the tears I shed alone at night,
    Are seen by only me.
    I hide behind a thin facade,
    A clown on masquerade,
    Seeking laughter as my balm,
    In a haunting, sad parade.
    Behind the makeup of the clown,
    Is a shattered heart of glass;
    Look deep into the eyes and see,
    A pain filled, sorrowed past.
    I walk through clouds of sadness,
    And drift on seas of pain;
    Picking up the shards of heart,
    Seeking wholeness once again.
    Alive in constant memory,
    Across the distant miles;
    There is solace for this heart,
    And the key to this clown’s smile.
    And though the days are empty,
    And years stretch forth in pain;
    A hope, a dream is still alive,
    That I will be whole again.


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