Don’t coddle me.
I don’t like to be coddled.
In fact, I don’t like to be held.
I don’t like to be touched.
In fact, don’t breathe my air.
I’m coming down with something, it must be from here or there.
And please don’t try to conversant about the news like its traverse
You cannot sit at the table without a place to put it first.

Don’t coddle me like a child.
We both know we lost our way
Don’t speak to me in such numbers
Where it seems I’m not okay
Don’t twist my words or quarry
About my younger days
As if I don’t quite ponder what will become of my wicked ways

Don’t coddle if I’m so intolerable
Don’t call if the time is not just right
Don’t feed me to the world
Just to hide me from viewers sight

And grace reflects my mere impeachment
Lets not forget about my lucky stars
Don’t count them in their glory,
Then question where they are

Don’t nurture me into success just to strip it all away
Don’t treat me like a doll
Then give me of which no house to play-

In fact, you shouldn’t coddle; when heavied from all of which I’ve weeped
What use is it to coddle- when the wicked get no sleep.

-Bre Womble