Obsessions and Compulsions

To grow up 'neath a tinted veil

For which one has no name

To never fully understand

Why no one sees the same

It sows a sense of lonliness

Estrangement from the masses

It sprouts into a sickly seedling

Spewing putrid gases.

But when that's all one ever knew,

They never long for sweetness

Or without knowing, so they do,

And scorn their strange uniqueness.

My bud took root in thorns and flesh

The crop grew foul and unkempt

But I, a bitter, childish thing,

Dutif'ly the harvest reapt.

A heavy burden was the chore

And painf'ly though it bound me,

And though with woe from me it tore

My life, I held it soundly.

The night it fin'ly broke me -

Or did it break? - I recall:

I demanded back the life it stole,

The pleasures, great and small.

It never truly withered then,

To this day it torments still,

But stronger have I lately grown

In heart and mind and will.

A lesser girl was she who gave

Herself to hate and harrow.

But she was only human.

I forgive her. I let go.