[Lyric] On Childhood Fears That May Never Go Away (Alex The Great)

On childhood fears that may never go away
When I was younger, my sisters and I would often play this game,
Where they would gag me with a scarf, bag me up in sheets, and lock me in a closet, until my mother got home from work.
Except, they were the only ones playing. It wasn’t much of a game to me that all of my childhood memories are now filled with me, being terrified, and them, being thoroughly entertained.
Isn’t it some of the sickest shit how peoplе can be so overcome with joy ovеr your pain.
Now the craziest thing, is that I don’t know if I’m more embarrassed to say I’ve seen a therapist, or to admit just how fucked up I am to even need one.
I can’t stand to be in dark places, don’t like feeling like I’m not in control when I don’t know what could be lurking out from the shadows, I’m not afraid of the dark.
I’m afraid of what can happen in the dark, afraid of the secrets that linger there, of the skeletons that will try to bury you with them.-They say that misery loves company,
maybe that's why I don’t like to be alone.- I sleep with the light on, in every room of my house.- But I can’t stand mirrors, who wants to magnify their own flaws.-I have this fear of talking to strangers, don’t get too close to anyone too soon.-And I swear, I’ll never say Candyman in a bathroom again.
In the back of my mind, I know, I know he’s got this hidden vendetta against me from 20 years ago, and I know, I know this shit got to sound crazy, but I’m not crazy, just a paranoia got a way of creeping up on ya.
I don’t like when people stand behind me, hands in your pockets for too long, can mean you nothing but harm. And I don’t know why, sometimes I just shake, tremendously, I can’t sit still, I get nervous jitters, I’m always crying, I think I’m happy, it's more of a condemnation than a declaration to me but I’m tired y’all.
Tired of playing the part of the broken girl, of the shattered woman. This movie has already been cast too many times. The bitter, battered, angry black as a stereotype. I am not willing to unmask. I’m asking questions I already know the answers to. I’m screaming, in quiet places. I’m banging on every locked door I see. I just want to be validated.
Yesterday, I cuddled myself in the darkest corner of the room singing sweet spirituals and crying shamelessly through the night. Sometimes, I just need to get out of my own head, not realizing the door has already been opened.-In the end, a small part of me is still just a little girl trapped in the closet, waiting for the day that my mother finally gets home.