Interesting Stories

“Interesting” you may say. I’ll nod and say it is.

To you it’s nothing but a story… a story you were lucky to hear and lucky also to have never been part of.
You weren’t the one there being shot at, you weren’t the one onto whose arms the the needles went into. It wasn’t your child they took away from you. You never had to see your brother killed slowly while all you could do was watch and cry. You weren’t the one who slept by the trash cans night after night hoping some stranger would throw some food at your feet. You can listen to the stories with your drinks and chips and laugh about it, question the story teller, think of clues that add up to the resolution or argue with the mindset of the storyteller to try and reveal the truth… Did it ever occur to you that the he’s been through all that you’re laughing about? She’s had to face the demons, he’s had to feed  the town with nothing to eat himself… that little kid you think is lying has been through  more that you’ll ever think of. The smile on her face you say makes her pretty is only her way of covering up for the tears that no one sees. The bruises on her face don’t come from gymnastics… she been nowhere close to the gymnasium yesterday because her boyfriend beat her up at that very moment. She still holds on to that abuser because he’s the only one she’s got. You show interest in the story because it entertains you. Your entertainment is his only way of buying a piece of bread for his dying kid. This is why his wife had threatened to set the house on fire… their tiny shelter on the roadside is going to go in flames because no one cares. You laugh at the woman, you call her mad but really she has more strength that you… she’s had hope for so long. She’s had hope on you, and you simply laugh. He laughs. She laughs. They all laugh at her… but who does she laugh at? No one.
That man in a suit stole money to buy it.. all because he’d get a job if he dresses up well. That would be the only way he could build his home, and you look at him in disgust because he wears old shoes. That’s not how he’d like to wear, they’re the only pair of shoes he has.
You call her everything no one would like to hear. You laugh at the things she does and tell the world stories. The sad thing is how you never stop to listen to her story first. In your eyes she’s a woman who’d do anything for money… but to her, it’s easier listening to your words than to give up on the only ways to earn her money. That’s how much she struggles to see her daughter smile, to give her the future she never had.
The kid who you pointed a finger at has enough fingers pointing at him already. It’s not his fault that he’s young and into drugs… that was his only escape and you’re taking it away from him.
Don’t judge me when I write these fancy words into a blog. Don’t say I don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t call me a know-it-all. I know I don’t know it all and you don’t either but here’s something I can tell you… I’m a storyteller but just like the kid on the road, the boy who made the wrong decision or the woman who set herself on fire, there’s a real story behind the sugar-coated words that I say as well. So don’t judge me, because you’re judging me wrong.

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