What if I'm sick of it?
What if I'm sick of the role you have so eloquently written for me?
What can I do if you are obsessed with colouring in the lines while I yearn to draw outside of them?
What if I go off script and say something foolish, dumb -stupid even.

What if I want to let go of it?
Let go of the loneliness that accompanies the burden of being perfect.
What if you realise that the higher you set your expectations for me, the further you will fall.

I am not ready to carry that responsibility.
I am not ready to be perfect.

Too many thoughts can drag you down,
Smiling is allowed,
Hard times can test your faith,
Oh, melodrama of the grace,
The world is, indeed a stage,
As a famous bard did say,
But thoughts have a positive role,
Solutions appear to guys and dolls,
So, plebs, sit down and have a rest,
Positive ideas are creation's best!

You play the role of a happy person
with a smile across your face.
But deep inside it hurts
And your crying out for help.

You, I,
      polymorphously perverse
           your hand covers my mouth
                   voices adverse
            Liberation, but in reverse.
Submit and admit...
                    Or
               disposed to oppose...
I want to beg, plead,
      submerse and disburse
               I burst in silence for my cursed thirst
             first, be more covert,
        I'd prefer if we
                  don't
                                       converse
I'll sing you your pleasure without
            a
                 single
                          verse.