They expect me to be wallowing
broken and battered
blaming myself for life not having met with my expectations
They have never once questioned what those expectations were,
so, if we're being truthful, it's their own expectations for me
that gives cause for concern.
It's suicide watch on the down-low
Assumptions made based on my latest, random doodle
Ink blot mentality leaves little room for my voice
not that they'd listen anyway
They know best...they always have.
The lack of tears, of course, means there is misdirected fault
No skin off my back
I've been apologizing for the last thirty years
Accepting of the blame
in hopes of shutting them up.
Every dream I have ever sacrificed in my sick and twisted hunt for approval
Lies weighted at my feet in a mockery of ball and chain
Shackles I no longer accept responsibility for
finally finding the courage to beg release.
Would they feel better, I wonder
If I were to take this blade
and prove my addiction to attention
Just a sliver, not too deep
enough for them to feel needed, important, right
Take my medicine
cry like I'm supposed to
and never once tell them
I'm not scared anymore.
We're debuting TONY over at the pub today for OpenLinkNight...AKA @RadBeliever is no doubt polishing virtual glasses as we speak. Be sure to visit dVersePoets and give him a big, poetic, welcome. Linking up at 3pmEST