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.

This poem is about: 
Me

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