I know you...

I know you.

You were too short.
You had bad skin.
You couldn't talk to them very well.
Words didn't seem to work.
They lied when they came out of your mouth.
You tried so hard to understand them.
You wanted to be part of what was happening.
You saw them having fun,
and it seemed like such a mystery
almost magic.

It made you think
that there was something wrong with you.
You'd look in the mirror trying to find it.
You thought that you were ugly
and that everyone was looking at you.

So you learned to be invisible,
to look down,
to avoid conversation.

The hours, days, weekends.
Ahh, the weekend nights alone.
Where were you?
In the basement? In the attic? In your room? Working some job?

Just to have something to do,
just to have some place to put yourself,
just to have a way to get away from them.
A chance to get away from the ones that made you feel so strange and
ill-at-ease inside yourself.

Do you ever get invited to one of their parties?
You sat and wondered if you would go or not.
For hours you imagined the scenarios that might transpire.
If they would laugh at you?
If you would know what to do?
If you would have the right things on?
If they would notice that you came from a
different planet?

Did you get all brave in your thoughts?
Like you were going to be able to go in there and deal with it, and have a great time?
Did you think that you might be "the life of the party?"
That all these people were going to talk to you
and you would find out that were wrong.
That you had a lot of friends and you weren't so strange after all.

Did you end up going?
Did they mess with you?
Did they single you out?
Did you find out that you were invited,
because they thought you were so weird?

Yeah, I think I know you.

You spent a lot of time full of hate.
A hate that was as pure as sunshine.
A hate that saw for miles.
A hate that kept you up at night.
A hate that filled your every waking moment.
A hate that carried you for a long time.

Yeah, I think I know you.
You couldn't figure out what they saw in the way
they lived.
Home was not home!
Your room was home.
A corner was home.
The place they weren't,
that was home.

I know you.
You're sensitive, and you hide it
because you fear getting
stepped on one more time.
It seems that when you show a part of yourself
that is the least bit vulnerable someone takes advantage of you.
One of them steps on you.
They mistake kindness for weakness,
but you know the difference.
You've been the brunt of their weakness for years
and strength is something you know a bit about
because you had to be strong to keep
yourself alive.

You know yourself very well now
and you don't trust people.
you know them too well.
You try to find that special person,
someone you can be with,
someone you can touch,
someone you can talk to,
someone you won't feel so strange around.
And you found that they don't really exist.
You feel closer to people on movie screens.

Yeah, I think I know you.

You spend a lot of time day dreaming
and people have made comment to that affect
telling you that you are 'self involved' and 'self centered'.
But they don't know, do they?
About the long night shifts alone.
About the years of keeping yourself company.
All the nights you wrapped your arms around yourself
so you could imagine someone holding you.
The hours of indecision.
Self doubt.
The intense depression.
The blinding hate.
The rage that made you stagger.
The devastation of rejection.

(sigh) Well , maybe they do know.
But if they do
they sure do a good job of hiding it.
It astounds you how they can be so smooth.
How they seem to pass through life,
as if life itself was some divine gift.
And it infuriates you
to watch yourself with your apparent skill
in finding every way possible
to screw it up.

For you, life is a long trip.
Terrifying and wonderful.
Birds sing to you at night.
The rain and the sun, the changing seasons are true friends.
Solitude is a hard-won ally
faithful and patient.

Yeah, I think I know you.

--Henry Rollins