Spoiler
I really wasn't aiming for perfection in this poem; this is more of a spur-of-the-moment kind of vent, and while writing , I found myself to be in the rhyming mood.
Your expectations of me
Has me lifting up this entire world;
Going outside the boundaries of my own strength,
And yet, still you continue to hurl:
“You don’t know what’s best for yourself,
Why is that so hard to see!?”
But dearest one,
When was the last time you had a good look at me?
Do you know the storms that reside in my heart?
Are you there amongst my struggle, as I am taken away and torn apart?
Can you see the hell that unfolds before my very eyes?
Do you know the mask, my deceptive guise?
Are you so blind to the pressure that you force onto me?
Can you read my mind, as I beg and plea?
Do you know the control that you no longer bear?
Are you ready to release me from your death grip, and give to me back my air?
Can you see that I am the maker of my own fate?
And do you now know it’s not a matter of debate?
2011 Vincent Cuccolo
