If you wanted to play
The game of remember when
I could take it
And repeat it
Using only egg whites
And orange slices
Only to discover
This may never get better.

I've read the pamphlet upside down
From side to side
And still continue to find myself
With semi open eyes
Not sure where, the tide rose
Between the hermit *****
That nestled and woke me
From a doe eyed slumber
To say, it was all meant to be
Incredibly challenging.

It's the victim hood
The beating yourself into a pseudo
Fake courage
Filled with paraphrased words
You took from the gutter
That artists before
Have worn like old scarves
Only to then sell them at a yard sale
For a penny or a whole dollar more.

I wrote on the walls
I encouraged you too as well
I've always been one to raise the moon.

It's why the fields are always left
A little dry from one side
Once I've built my log cabin
And decided
That the corn had turned rotten.

I wrote you some poems
Made some art too
Played your mama, your sister, your coach, your lover
Only to then
Grow past you too.

The confusing emotion
You drown yourself with it
I've heard you before
It's the victimization
And ruminating on the floor
The endless vent sessions
Where you remain idle
And frantic
For why I've gotta be brave enough
To shut my own door.