What "they" do to me
I was something
And perhaps they were right.
There was that strip
Of lolly sweet time
When I knew they were right
And didn't care.
Time rolled up
And packed itself away
And those mountains that
Were always there
To climb, someday
Are gone.
The "they"
Used to be so ultra
And good at telling me
That it was all forgotten
And forgiven.
It wasn't harmful to anyone but myself.
And even I got a good bite
Out of both light and dark.
I like to think
That so many years of balancing
Made me better
At balancing.
Trying something knew, I said...
It wasn't pressure
It wasn't "outside influence"
Just me and Mister Personal Preference.
I was unchangeable
Or so I wished they would think
But they thought what they pleased.
I packed up matter and solitude
And made myself a home
Inside a dormant mind.
I pulled out all the stops
And swapped the red wire
With the blue.
Still, when they tell me
To erase the past
They keep the carbon copy.
They tell me
To learn from my mistakes
And they hold me back because of them.
They tell me
To break free from the past
And they bind me with the same lie.
Unintentional, a fickle deception
A non-issue injury
That bleeds slowly
When "they" are not around.
--August 2005
And perhaps they were right.
There was that strip
Of lolly sweet time
When I knew they were right
And didn't care.
Time rolled up
And packed itself away
And those mountains that
Were always there
To climb, someday
Are gone.
The "they"
Used to be so ultra
And good at telling me
That it was all forgotten
And forgiven.
It wasn't harmful to anyone but myself.
And even I got a good bite
Out of both light and dark.
I like to think
That so many years of balancing
Made me better
At balancing.
Trying something knew, I said...
It wasn't pressure
It wasn't "outside influence"
Just me and Mister Personal Preference.
I was unchangeable
Or so I wished they would think
But they thought what they pleased.
I packed up matter and solitude
And made myself a home
Inside a dormant mind.
I pulled out all the stops
And swapped the red wire
With the blue.
Still, when they tell me
To erase the past
They keep the carbon copy.
They tell me
To learn from my mistakes
And they hold me back because of them.
They tell me
To break free from the past
And they bind me with the same lie.
Unintentional, a fickle deception
A non-issue injury
That bleeds slowly
When "they" are not around.
--August 2005
