A Sour Cliche

Oh what things I wish I could have said;

That I would taste rolling on my tongue;

The sweet and sugary words of not so cliche;

And the sour spite of not feeling wrong.

Was always was the one being easy to provoke;

Was always was the one being easy to misguide;

Being caught up in someone else’s joke;

Slowly eating away the remnants of my pride.

You saw me tucking away in a corner;

With salty tears stinging my flushed skin;

That girl looking at me with no disorder;

Only laughing at her heart’s content.

Though I called out for your help;

You never believed a word I said;

Only thinking that I needed self-help;

Making the wound bigger as it bled.

A good teacher you call yourself;

Sorry to rain on your little parade;

But you aren’t close on proving oneself;

You can’t even help guide a needed student to aide.

I wish I could’ve said this to you sooner;

You left me with anger and great disdain;

I could only protect myself with no pruner;

To cut away the excruciating pain.

Now in a different school;

With new different teachers to face;

They actually listened to my past fools;

Now there are no more troubles to trace.

You could’ve done that for me;

Relinquish the years of fighting all alone;

Now you’re just a piece of my memory;

That I left behind while I continue to grow.