I can’t always feel the sun shine during his thunderous reign.
I carry the guilty burdens in bags with tags bearing his name.
He wants me. He doesn’t love me.
I’m mostly a prize to gain.
Tempers’ flare yet he convinces me that I’m the one who is to blame.
He doesn’t want to hurt me, really, it’s just his anger towards his shame.
But 3 years of violence takes it toll as I’m the one needing to walk with a cane.
And there’s no point trying to reason when he’s raging, going absolutely insane.
I wish I could take his hurt away so that I do not have to feel this pain.
And I’m sorry that my son has the displeasure of being his son, if only in name.
Yet, he’s so sweet when he’s acting sane.
And when he’s acting sweet,
I have absolutely no reason to complain.
He tells me he’s doing one thing yet does another.
He’s as much of a sex pest as he is passionate lover.
But he keeps his emotions wrapped tightly, under the covers.
Like I could be his wife, friend, foe or even his mother.
But to be honest, I’m not quite sure why I bother.
I love him… But… I don’t want him.
Wish I could wife swap with a-another.
“… But like many a gentlemen I have suppressed my true feelings.”
I wrote a poem about ‘Gradely Folk’ and my regrets about the lack of the same,
Then I went to ‘Pride in Oldham’ and ‘POINT’ and felt a pang of shame,
They were all there, those ‘gradely folk’, showing just what they had done,
And whether they won awards or not, in reality, they all had won.
So my dark thoughts flew right away and my heart just burst with pride,
My eyes got moist and I began to feel the burn of love inside,
A lot of these folk had seen tough times, when lots of support was needed,
And now they were all putting help back, with all the advice they’d heeded.
So here’s to all those ‘gradely folk’, who keep giving out all that love,
And also here’s to the cared for, who deserve both sweat and blood,
What goes around comes around and when it’s your time for care,
Just hope there are ‘gradely folk’ around who’ll give you your fair share!
Gradely Owdam folk are gooin’, an’ it’s mekin’ mi feel reight sick,
Folk oo’d allus ‘elp one another, through the thin and thick.
An’ care fur th’owd neighbours onytime, when as thi wer badly.
But now they’ll not do owt fur nowt an’ nowt fur no one, sadly!
Aye th’owd spirit’s deein! Can it return? Thur seems to be sum doubt,
It seems t’me it’s far too late, it’s all gone reight up t’spout!
Thi’ve got no brains, got too much brass and not a jot o’compashun,
Thi all think as thi shud be, ‘uppaa claass’. Aye, but ony after a fashun!
Thur lives are all about ME, ME and ME! ME an’ ‘ow gud am I?
Well I tell yu now, it’s all a load of tosh, it’s all a load of mi eye!
Ah don’t want t’go back t’t’poor owd days, them days o’ poverty an’ dread,
Ah’d just like t’see back them kindly folk, as wer all reet gradely bred!!