I used to dream a child's dream, of being a knight and rescuing ladies from their plight. Daydreams are like moonbeams, pale reflections of what we want to be. Childhood was agony.
Dreams brought me pain in two ways, the pain of being alone, unheard, the pain of being stoned by casually callous words. Why I view females so, when all they did was spit at me, I'll never know.
I held the same desires, the same soul, my need quenched the same fires, leaving me unwhole as they laughed at my need, fed on my pain, watched me bleed then took turns kicking my broken dreams, or so it seems.
Why should I cherish women so? They hated me, berated me, called me to task for things I knew not how to ask. Most of the rage and pain I try to contain in vain came from them.
Discipline became my mantra, my oath and code. Coldhearted became my operating mode in the depths of my soul where rages a howling storm of numbing cold.
I HATE them for what they did to me, a simple soul yearning to be free, yet women were also the source of every concern that I spurned to protect my hollow fate from decay.
My heart would ache as I did contemplate the romantic attraction that left me out, scarred and marred by the hard reality of being a pariah, unclean and fit only for females to demean.
There are times when I look back on me, and scarcely see, how I survived being so scarred up inside, from endlessly weeping about their callous disregard that has broken me
I am not responsible for how you choose to interpret what I say.