Wednesday, November 7, 2012


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. 

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