I have to throw up walls...
I have to refuse...
I wish I didn't have to,
But that's not possible;
At least not with you.

I love you and I've learned.
I can't give you everything.
Or you would just use me up.
The frustrating part?
You're unaware. Or your not listening.
It's the same either way.
It's for my own good
And yours too

Your reaction confirms I'm doing the right thing
Or you'd never respect my answer
(not that you really do now)
but I respect myself enough to say it.

I've been too lenient with you.
A realization that comes too late.
Like a mother and her child
Realizing her mistake during the tantrum.
The realization comes with the knowledge that you present understanding until met with opposition.
Contradictory texts and I now realize, painfully, you knew it was a big ask

....you just weren't expecting me to say no....

You don't respect my time. That much is clear. I just wish I realized it sooner.

I once again feel as though I am imploding,
because all of this destruction is on the inside.
A black hole devouring light.
Sit in the front seat of a chaos theory lecture and attempt to pointlessly assign order in vain,
for there is no rhyme or reason,
only confusion and grieving.
But you will still look for the butterfly who dare flap its wings.
I've tried and failed.
It's a frustrating thing.
After all, you can't lasso gravity;
You can't force these atoms to come back together into a solid state,
just as I can't force my mind to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop breathing.

I'm in my villian era;
That is to say
I'm in my intolerant era
My "I don't give a ****" era
My "I don't have patience for peoples emotions and stupidity" era;

Except its not an era
It's a day
A week
It is a come and go feeling that helps me to function and push forward,
It is an intensity
A fire burning, but not from anger
It is power and control
It is a wall
It's still kind, but different, tainted
Searching for the motive, the string, the catch
proceeding wearily, lacking child-like faith.

It is the only way to protect myself,
demanding respect
To declare that statement:
"Don't **** with me"
To be a sheep in wolf's clothing
Until I feel safe enough to rid myself of this hyde.

I let it all run
Thickly and quickly
I want them to see the messy horror of it all.
But it’s not all blood,
Rather it is the medium for my art:
Pictures of roses, cardinals, apples
The rouge on a woman’s lips
An  umbrella on a rainy day
A wool sweater
A pocket square against a black suit
The traffic light on the corner of the street...
Or perhaps I'll dip my quill in it and write
Because that's what writers do.

They turn all that red into something beautiful...