I wrote this on a chair sitting by myself.
Memories of holidays and the times when I had no one else.
Depression turned up as the seasons changed.
Pitch black became the color of the mood ring.
Watching all the happy people with real nice lives.
Jealous of their happiness and the fact their siblings were alive.
And didn’t feel the temperature drop below zero the way that I do.
When it’s the holidays, your seat is there, and I’m here missing you.
I became mad at the world and pray the Lord forgives.
I did things in a mind state to hurt others when I didn’t want to live.
The pain my parents felt, I thought they didn’t deserve it.
So I struck out on anyone that I could strike this hurt with.
At times it turned inward, and I became the target.
Unable to move forward.
Unable to get over the losses.
Then I heard a voice speak to me bringing love in the discomfort.
It said this loss you’ve been brought through
in order to bring others comfort.
So when you see them homeless and alone,
miserable, and forgotten,
you won’t forget them, nor the sacrifice you were bought with.