You were born with a silver spoon,
And mine was made of dry twigs and rotting wood,
Your father gave you the world,
And mine a pen, a book and the view of our different worlds as we live right after your posh estate.
He gave me the book,
So everytime I felt this pain,
I’d take out the rage on this page.
Yours gave you the world,
So every time you stretched,
You’d hold on to your wants.
I had needs,
You had needs too.
Yours were more of wants though.
The first time we spent time together,
You taught me how to read,
Taught me how to write too.
You taught me words like love and happy ever after,
But you never taught me the difference between value and desire,
That no matter how much a man desires you,
His value for you is what keeps him wanting you,
But I guess you did.
I guess you left so you could teach me to love myself,
And all my life I had thought that we could build a bridge to get past this river between,
But I was wrong,
It has always been an ocean,
And I don’t know how to swim.