She doesn't get it, it's all before she was born.

A poem.

"It Bothers Me Not"

Cross your fingers, I'll cross my heart.
Luck is needed, before we start.
A pounding, pounding in my brain.
The time pours down, down like rain.

Love was a word, not an emotion.
Sex was my god, her my devotion.
The darkness ruined me, for sure.
I hate the time, for what I endured.

I was scarred for months and months.
I was torn for what I'd done.
I used that word for it was what I wanted.
That dark corner, forever haunted.

Young and lust bring more secrets than I thought.
The moments of "happiness", I'd rather rot.
I was torn for what I'd done.
The prize was sought, but never won.

As a person I've changed.
As a person I've grown.
My sorrow never felt
by any heart but my own.

Replaced those words of young and lust
With those of Lord and trust
Surrounded by, true friends of mine.
I'm doing fine, I'm doing fine.

Time heals all, it surely does.
I've new things to give me my buzz.
Every few months, my mind wanders back.
Every few months, I'm filled with regret.