Handle

Standing here.

This edge of life.

This edge looks like…

A switch blade knife.

Switch made at birth.

Should have been someone else.

See, my father says that I’m a mess.

At best I’m less than his worst.

And even now

I’m not sure how

To breathe deep again.

See I see me,

In hypocrisy,

His rules that beat me down.

He asks me now

If I’ve turned around

To walk that straight and narrow.

I’m straight as an arrow

Through the heart of the nearest girl standing.

No reprimanding me.

I’ll be who I’m meant to be.

It’s not that I don’t like authority

Or it’s boring me.

I simply have this urge to exist.

And this is more than I can handle.

I ramble around

Trying to sound out the syllables

that tell us that you’ll come back.

But you won’t.

You never had an interest

In anything other than a mistress

And this responsibility…

Well this is more than you can handle.

See we learn a lot about someone

After they’ve come undone

Their thoughts frayed on the floor.

Displayed before they’re processed

And drop this polite bullshit

The truth is you’re not the man you want to be.

I’m not the girl you see

And it bothers me

That I tried so long to fit in.

This shit, it’s bogus

You owe us. You do.

Years trying so hard to be like you.

Just to find that you’re a mess.
Far less than my best.
And yes…

You're too much to handle.