I have a confession to make, sometimes I do hate. Sometimes for no apparent reason and mostly just for a season.
I try not to be late, but every morning I fight with my fate. Sometimes, because I don’t know it or I am scared and I ignore it.
This is not a debate, this is the story of the burden on my plate. Like a terminal disease, they ignore my pleas. To let me live and learn, it is my freedom I yearn.
After all that I continue to handle, without any drama or scandal. I have measured up to the test, yet still they give me no rest.
I feel like a stranger and to them I am imminent danger. For fear that i will no longer handle, but set fire to their candle. Let it burn at both ends and refuse to pretend.
I have been tainted by their indiscretions, made aware of every session. Condone them as they indulge, as my animosity continues to bulge.
I am complex and I do not deny, but still I wonder why? Or is it who, who delegated me queen? Who turned the tables in this scene?
Why must I fight a cold war with someone far older and with more. More to loose as they abuse, but still have time to accuse.
These are my confessions of exhaustion, I’d like to leave and set my healing into motion.