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.