My judgement clouded by undeserved happiness
Slavery's my choice, it's my fault
Isn't it always?

I can't remember anymore,
Can't afford to pay attention
Why were you even born?

A slave's only purpose is to please
When will I ever learn?
I'm so happy right now

Just make it stop
Just make me stop
My heart, still ever beating

The skin I'm in
Emotional numbness, stoic?
My heart is bleeding

They claim to care
They claim to love
They claim to do better

Alone I waste away
New year, new day
Same them, same old problems

I've read between the lines
I'm not a part of the bigger pictures
I paint them a personality of perfection, because I never mattered

Their words and actions
Contrary, opposed within the same person
I'm about to fall apart again

What must I be
A slave, a friend
A daughter, I see no difference

I feel the hurts
It all gets worse
No wonder I'm so worthless

Priority
Certainly not me
It's my fault, I'm to blame

Why were you ever born?
I'm torn
Between letting you live to hurt or die to burn

So many ways to rid the world of you
A lifelong inconvenience
For some reason everyone's shattered?

Regrets and tears
They grieve, they cheer
But why? I never mattered

Hire purchase, Hewlett-Packard, hand phones and - just maybe - Harry Potter have got nothing on Hello Poetry. A house party of honey pies, head pixies, and horizontal plotters hot piping their harmonic power from Hyde Park to Hunter’s Point, the High Plains to Himachel Pradesh. Household profilers, home porters, health practitioners and - it may be said - the odd human particulate here to engage in high-priority human performance.

P.S. Heart points and historic preservation aside, what the hoi polloi is up with those hit-by-pitch holding patterns, Eliot?

your heart is too accepting
it was awfully gaped
that anyone can dock
anytime at unusual time

close your harbor
be the right place
for one certain ship