She-Wolf
Chapter II
I dream endlessly of these things. So intent I am on just living, yet vicious beyond reason when provoked, my friends have given me a nickname She-Wolf. Lupa, in Latin. Like, yet unlike, the unsurmounted beauty of the angel Lucifer, I want but freedom with none above me.
Love came to me in my teen years, by the name of Nathaniel. A melodious sound yet a Christian word. "Gift from God." I gave up on God long ago when I finally woke to the truth. The God never protected me. If there is a God, it is a cruel being, with no thought but for itself.
I was born into a horrible family. Not understanding of anything I did or said. Not praising me for my achievements yet severely punished for my downfalls. A less than enlightened group, a sister who is viciously jealous and torments me to no end, throwing things at me, having fits if not getting her way, a fat, stupid waste of life, a mother whom I know not does love me or no, who never accepted the fact that I'm not like the rest of the family, a father I never could contact.
Beset with misery from everywhere, I am but a shadow of what I could have been with just more love, praises, and knowing that I was a priceless treasure to this miserable existence. If only had I the simple joy of being with my love constantly every waking moment of the rest of my life, that which alone could had every hope of offsetting my past, at least for a small while, is barricaded from me by the measly count of years, which doesn't count. It's how much, not how long you have lived, that makes you ready for life outside of whatever childhood you had.
Chapter II
I dream endlessly of these things. So intent I am on just living, yet vicious beyond reason when provoked, my friends have given me a nickname She-Wolf. Lupa, in Latin. Like, yet unlike, the unsurmounted beauty of the angel Lucifer, I want but freedom with none above me.
Love came to me in my teen years, by the name of Nathaniel. A melodious sound yet a Christian word. "Gift from God." I gave up on God long ago when I finally woke to the truth. The God never protected me. If there is a God, it is a cruel being, with no thought but for itself.
I was born into a horrible family. Not understanding of anything I did or said. Not praising me for my achievements yet severely punished for my downfalls. A less than enlightened group, a sister who is viciously jealous and torments me to no end, throwing things at me, having fits if not getting her way, a fat, stupid waste of life, a mother whom I know not does love me or no, who never accepted the fact that I'm not like the rest of the family, a father I never could contact.
Beset with misery from everywhere, I am but a shadow of what I could have been with just more love, praises, and knowing that I was a priceless treasure to this miserable existence. If only had I the simple joy of being with my love constantly every waking moment of the rest of my life, that which alone could had every hope of offsetting my past, at least for a small while, is barricaded from me by the measly count of years, which doesn't count. It's how much, not how long you have lived, that makes you ready for life outside of whatever childhood you had.