The Lost Cause
Zach Bryan "Heading South"
"Was a boy who was a dreamer, who flew so high and proud in a world full of people that would cut his young ass down. No one ever understood a single word he said and cast him to the wolves when he wasn't young and fed."
"The Lost cause," finds his purpose. The Lost cause the label he's worn on his spirit since the first time it was haphazardly lobbed at him with the intent to harm, it did more than that it scarred, every time he was called it.
"You'll never amount to nothing," the label assigned to him when he was trying to learn to exist in a stable environment when all he ever had was life on the landslide rushing to a cliff.
"You are a disappointment," the phrase repeated over and over when my feelings weren't heard, my side left unacknowledged.
"Children are meant to be seen and not heard," the narrative of my youth, the why as to why my feelings never mattered in my head.
"I'll give you something to cry about," the words screamed in the most intimidating tone that wasn't a yell at all but more terrifying, taught me to hide my tears, build a wall of hate to anyone that came to hurt me. And now I feel more than ever, cry daily at the gratitude's of this life but also what I survived.
"You don't make enough," the provider label when I drove 90 minutes commuting to a job I hated to earn more and more, school full time and two kids, double my salary wasn't "enough." To come home to a cold home with no love, no intention set to the meals or the family values just a miserable existence.
"You are a monster," as if he wasn't told that his whole life. As if his head didn't tell him that death was a more peaceful solace daily, as if he wasn't aware he didn't belong, didn't fit in, wasn't one of the sheep.
He was broken, mishandled, often left unloved. He didn't need your boxes, your labels, or your expectations. He needed a hug, to be told it was going to be okay, that you were proud of him, that his demons were only in his head; he had a heart of gold but he couldn't see it through the darkness that consumed his life.
He was an outcast that needed love, not to be cast out but to be brought in. Not be thrown to wild, but he needed a tribe. He needed love and understanding while he tried to live in his own skin, while he learned to make peace with his monsters.
He didn't need your labels, your expectations, he needed your love. The Lost cause that found his purpose.
All he ever did was struggle to please everyone else, as that is what he thought would make him happy. But they were never pleased, now I'll choose myself.
The Lost Cause