I'm Bad at Making Titles
I'm a disappointment
A failed try who deserves every ounce of blame,
always pushing my anger forward as I hold back my shame
Why talk about dreams I'll never achieve,
about all that I can be,
just so that someone will like me?
Why? When I all I see
are hastily written papers and blank applications;
they mock me
And look with scorn,
every time I say 'I've had it' and 'no more'
Just to find myself masturbating, replicating, tearing my life's tapestry back down to its threads
Breaking my own legs,
Pushing every day into the trash and pulling the bag over my head
I've spent 10 years saying 'it's time to move on'
but the man who did me wrong isn't yet gone
When he checks my language, makes excuses and carries on,
tightening the harness around my chest...
But -- no, shut up -- I'm strong.
Like a roped-up circus elephant who's never learned her strength,
a growing tree that's been bent out of shape,
and I can claw loose,
get up on one knee
break the yoke over my back
because it's time to get free
tear the bag off my head;
it's time for me to breathe
stand on my own two feet
and succeed.
It's time to apply myself;
to improve and learn
hit the books and feel the pages of this new life turn
and watch the rotting pages of my old life burn
as I apply fresh ink to life for which I've yearned
And soon I'll be ready to laugh my way through
ready to stride through life with the boy that I knew.