You assume,  
I consume.  
You vent,  
I’m bent.

You never trust, nor lend advice,  
You're angry—nothing will suffice.  
All kinds of tea draw out your spite,  
No comfort quenches you at night.

You crave a balm to fill the space,  
I long for joy, a lighter place.  
But bitterness becomes your rod,  
And nothing lifts—just nods from God.

I tread on eggshells, soft and thin,  
You blame and barter, box me in.  
Your words, they echo, tight and grim—  
A ringing bell I cannot dim.

I have to leave, though you stay blind,  
I lost my wings, left them behind.  
I should have flown, but couldn’t see—  
You clipped them first, then caged me.