Every now and then I come across a song that I had wished I had written, or something that I wished I had authored. This is one of those occasions. While I may not have suffered these particular brushes with mortality and/or life changing/revealing events, I have my own skeletons and ghosts that have made me what I am.
Beyond that, the sentiment is the same. I have to stop letting the bastards grind me down.
Here’s the simple, honest truth of where I am as a person: my tolerance for other people’s bullshit is gone. If I didn’t directly cause the issue that’s got your ass puckered, don’t turn your ire on me because the backlash will be painfully honest, unfiltered, and more than likely profane. If I did create the issue, I’ll be the first to apologize and make amends for my transgression, but if I didn’t, don’t even think about taking it out on me. When I was young and insecure and weak, I let too many people walk all over me and take advantage of me and trample my self-esteem, but the great thing about a little stroll through hell is that it reforges your will into something stronger, something more resilient, and at times something a little meaner.
My trip through hell mostly consisted of losing my children and…
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