Repetitive complaining spoilage
Asking for help but pushing away anyone who tries
The way people help isn't the way I want it

I want you
I don’t get to see you when I want to
Because sometimes I need to hold your hand
And I'm punished for needing help

I don’t know if my problem is this depression doc prescribed me with
Or the idea that running away from problems is the path most travelled by
They said that when you held my hand, you brought me down the wrong path
And they said your hands were filthy

But you promised me that you would wash them
Clean them of the sleepless nights
And the assumptions of your life
Prove them wrong

But don’t change who you are
Don’t rinse your hands in bleach like they want you to
Rinse them in the forgiveness those people need while reciting your ABC's
And don’t forget to wash in between our mistakes

How do they expect me to hold foreign hands?
Without a razor in my own
How do they expect me to find sanity?
When they’ve taken everything

Transporting me into the hands of others
Am I too much to handle?
But they didn't even stamp "handle with care" on my crate
Carrying surprises of disappointment

It’s been shipwrecked stormy seas
Seeing familiar faces
Explaining myself over and over again
Monotone and white lies

Of all these 16 years they didn’t even know me
Now pursuing every secret
And every locked door

I don’t hold the key to my own body anymore
It’s in the freckled hands of lullabies
Strings attached
I'm their puppet