All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And now I've got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them too
It's true, I was made for you
Do people really know who you are? Since before COVID-19 hit there has been a steady increase of deaths in my part of the world. People I know. People I barely know. People I don't know. People who insistent on people that I should know. Are you a good listener? Do you know the stories that are etched across my face? I bet you don't know, I bet you'll never know. If you had the time to sit and listen, I would tell you stories. I would tell you stories that you wouldn't believe happened to me. Stories that you thought, no, you're joking. That sounds more like a Hollywood movie than your life, And I would laugh, I would. Not because it was funny, But because it's more true than you would ever know. I've stopped pinching myself because I know it all happened. It continues to happen to me. Such are the lines that I see clearly on my face. So clear are the stories that I can see and read from my face.
I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and broke the rules
And baby I broke them all for you
Oh, because even when I was flat broke
They let me feel like a million bucks
You do, and I was made for you
I broke so many rules. I learned all the rules in every space I was forced to occupy so that I could dismantle them. The only way I could survive was to be aware of my surroundings, to be able to sense immediately the danger that I could not ignore. Every obstacle that was ever placed in my path, I learned to push through all of the pain to get to the next obstacle, and the next obstacle and the next obstacle. No obstacle ever lead me to a place where I would give up. Throwing my hands up in defeat was never an option. There was always a way out. Even when people gave up on me and tried to dissuade me from pursuing what I was entitled to, to pursue my own truth and use my own voice to speak up and speak out, there were always those who tried to stop me - who still continue to try and stop me. You get to a point in your life where you lose count of the haters. It's just part of your life.
You see the smile that's on my mouth
It's hiding the words that don't come out
And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed
They don't know my head is a mess
No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what I've been through like you do
And I was made for you
You may have so many words trapped in your mouth that you can't get out. Is it because you are afraid that people will not listen? You're not really sure whether it is even worth saying anything at all. How do you know if people are listening, if you are being heard? It isn't even about being a victim anymore. It's just about the common decency of being able to say what you need to say without fear of retribution or retaliation. People think you're blessed. They don't know the constant pressure that you are under. They truly believe that everything that you do is just how things are because you have not always just met expectations, you have always exceeded them. Does it matter if your head is a mess? What may look like a mess to the rest of the world, is just your own beautiful chaos. I would know. Someone painted me a picture of my life at one point and named it beautiful chaos. I was the only one who could make sense of the craziness that was my life. Nobody else could really fathom what they could never understand, what they had never experienced.
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
Oh, but those stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true, I was made for you
Oh yeah, well it's true, I was made for you
I hope you are happy with the stories that speak out of the lines that litter your face. Remember to own those stories and never be ashamed of the battle scars. Those healed wounds are a testament to the strength and endless resilience you have constantly had to display. Trying to function in some sort of normality when you would rather curl up and forget the world, shows that you are no quitter. People want you to quit and never want you to succeed, because you were never thought to be one who could. Who will you tell your stories to now? People want your stories, but they don't want you. Do your stories even need an audience? When we come to stand at the end of our lives and our earthly light starts to become extinguished in this realm, we will learn that we didn't need to be made for others. Instead we will only have finally realised that we only needed to study our own reflection and recognise clearly in our eyes that we were all that needed. All you ever needed to do was to gaze at your own reflection and watch yourself say, "I am the story" . . .