I’m about sick of you.
I think I have a fever,
I think you’ve given me the flu.
I’m tired of the strangling grip
you’ve refused to loosen up
not even just the slightest bit,
not even just a little shove.
I’m tired of your constant chant:
Sleep, study, work repeat.
I’m tired of my big girl pants.
Sleep, study, maybe eat.
Who gave you the slightest power
To make me wish my days away?
To make me count them by the hour
Until I’m dead and in my grave?
Don’t answer that-
I know it was I.
It’s not my fault
I couldn’t help it if I tried.
Because without you,
But you’re the one who
I think I like me better
Even if that means
My life falls apart.