You judge me why? For the name I carry or the amount of years I have yet to seen? Have seen?
It makes no sense, yet as a child my mind is realing, turning and trying to shed light upon this, trying to understand.
You call me weak for I studder, for I do not like to fight, do not like war. Make Peace I say, or Pasta.
War is for the fighters you say, and that I will never understand. You are wrong. And that shows me, you have never seen a true war.
A true war.
In a war it isn’t the strong who is fighting, you rarely see those who are shouting orders on the front lines.
No, what you see are the children, the 18 year olds, and the ones who have just started to see life. You see them on the lines, risking it all. You call me a child, what are they?
You cannot hold your tongue and your judgement is so quick that it sends my little mind into overdrive,
yet when the days ends, you’ll be the one with the enemies, and I’ll make the precious friends.
Because it is the weak who know the world, who know how to survive and without knowing their past, my past, you label us weak.
Such weakness of your part don’t you think?
Don’t you think?
You talk a big game but when things get tough your the first one to retreat, me however, I stay. Why?
Why retreat to fight another day with more enemies when you can prove yourself on day one.
Before you judge me, say I’m weak, no good, judge my clan, look at you. Who are you? Are you my God? No.
You are a person, same as myself, but is your own house in order? Again, I can disagree.
War is created by the strong, and fought by those you call weak for in the end, the weak hold strength your petty little mind would never come across.
Would never experience, would never have the true right to say, I am strong. In the end, all you’ll have if your judgement. And Me.. I would have won the race.
Yeah, won the race.