Be Brave 2
This is a voice that can’t be silenced until it’s said enough. That can struggle over the descriptions of games played with unspeakable things in unspeakable places. That can write down names and write down times, even if only my mind. Those files arn't lost their safe, safe from me and everyone else until if and when people can cope with me, with the truth. The voice of a body twisted and broken by shock, and poison, dehydration, electricity, injury and starvation, a mind sometimes crippled by drugs, stress and systematic attempts to destroy it stuck together by beliefs in universal rights and a faith in nature.
Everyone had his or her own particular sects or houses mixing philosophy, religion and psychology together in a way we found irresistible under so much pressure. It was after all damage limitation I felt jealous of kids we wern't as bright as curious as me. We could make up and experiment with culture as much as we liked as long as it included regular sexual torture, with incest, child abuse and porn at the core. Like the Christmas tree during December or the fireworks during November.
It didn’t matter when my own personal ‘No’s turned to ‘yes’s I could still watch the rest fall. I knew my body well enough to know I couldn’t run away any time soon I knew the system enough to know I couldn’t walk to anywhere safe. We would let you think you were out before getting you, the worst ways in your safest, most hopeful place. I never bought it. I knew too much of is functioning structures to fall for any it, even when they began to understand what made me tick. The only way they let you leave is if you become more bother and cause more ‘problems’ than your worth.
We always knew the score before the winner popped a cork,
We knew the song before a note was struck.
The kiss with a history, and a past.
Too difficult for you to know that I knew nothing else.
The seasons don’t always find me short. But always clean.
Does the fast track leave you wondering?
The only lesson you could teach. This isn’t over tonight.
I hope this brings hope and relief not only to victims and survivors but everyone who had ever felt oppressed. Anyone who resented why some people got away with so much more, who looked up at a parent or school teacher and knew that without a shadow of a doubt that age does not always bring wisdom. Being exposed to the extremes of the practices and beliefs of oppression has made me sensitive its nature, its methods and its forms. I see its triumphant little symbols in every newspaper and T.V program, every work of art and worse, in every word or glance either at me or near me. I know system of differneces they maintain and the mechanisms that have already failed them.
I am trying to to question the wider social assumptions that allow it to happen and sometimes flourish. To feel a relief from the disease ridden grim of complying with such rubbish that could offer nothing but painfully enforced rigid inequality. Where everything of any value is taken from you and given to those to stupid to need anything. I for one do not want to lead a life of constant role-play always wondering what I am supposed to be faking now.
Everyone had his or her own particular sects or houses mixing philosophy, religion and psychology together in a way we found irresistible under so much pressure. It was after all damage limitation I felt jealous of kids we wern't as bright as curious as me. We could make up and experiment with culture as much as we liked as long as it included regular sexual torture, with incest, child abuse and porn at the core. Like the Christmas tree during December or the fireworks during November.
It didn’t matter when my own personal ‘No’s turned to ‘yes’s I could still watch the rest fall. I knew my body well enough to know I couldn’t run away any time soon I knew the system enough to know I couldn’t walk to anywhere safe. We would let you think you were out before getting you, the worst ways in your safest, most hopeful place. I never bought it. I knew too much of is functioning structures to fall for any it, even when they began to understand what made me tick. The only way they let you leave is if you become more bother and cause more ‘problems’ than your worth.
We always knew the score before the winner popped a cork,
We knew the song before a note was struck.
The kiss with a history, and a past.
Too difficult for you to know that I knew nothing else.
The seasons don’t always find me short. But always clean.
Does the fast track leave you wondering?
The only lesson you could teach. This isn’t over tonight.
I hope this brings hope and relief not only to victims and survivors but everyone who had ever felt oppressed. Anyone who resented why some people got away with so much more, who looked up at a parent or school teacher and knew that without a shadow of a doubt that age does not always bring wisdom. Being exposed to the extremes of the practices and beliefs of oppression has made me sensitive its nature, its methods and its forms. I see its triumphant little symbols in every newspaper and T.V program, every work of art and worse, in every word or glance either at me or near me. I know system of differneces they maintain and the mechanisms that have already failed them.
I am trying to to question the wider social assumptions that allow it to happen and sometimes flourish. To feel a relief from the disease ridden grim of complying with such rubbish that could offer nothing but painfully enforced rigid inequality. Where everything of any value is taken from you and given to those to stupid to need anything. I for one do not want to lead a life of constant role-play always wondering what I am supposed to be faking now.
