I Love to Write
To the mad, the weary, for those of us that feel left behind.
To the shy ones, the quiet ones,
For those that live with unseen fears.
To the untouched, those that don't want to be touched, to the unwantedly touched.
For the ones that got put in islands and found their place.
To the mad men who were once momma's boys.
For the daddy's girl that slipped once and was caught in somebody else's bed and now will never forever be daddy's little girl, again.
To the failed suicide and those who are hungry enough to try. ( Don't do it, you might not feel loved, but you can still give it. )
For the over worked, under paid. For those who just think they're insane.
To the ones that got pinned down, beaten, bruised, and just want to forget it was ever by you.
For the teenager that through hormones seeks danger and finds themselves in a position they don't want to be in.
For the boys with long hair and the girls who like their's military cut. For those who really don't give a f***.
To the unpresent mother or father that missed out on having a son or daughter.
To the preacher who lost his faith. The poet that just can't find his way.
For the kid who tried to escape by any means necessary and now is trapped between both worlds, be it boy or girl.
