hands tied

It doesn’t help that I’ve got my hands tied behind my back,
and my heart cradled in the mouth of a hot oven
some days I see myself exhorting daydreams into false tangibility
often resulting with a swift slap to the face,
you’re not very capable of change, did you know?

When you grab a tray of salted tragedies and toss them
in with regular old human inadequacy
you’ll end up with a mess of a person
a mess of a circumstance and situation
and 88 days out of 100 are immersed in confusion
just my cold mind trying to fight for a
temperature moderate enough for manageable emotion

These words are solely to describe
the height of which my frustrations reach
when you are absent, disappointing, or abrasive
and the depths of my compassion
when you are lonely, hurting, or aching

These words are also to admit
that plenty of the fault lies within
that the majority of my inconsistent temperament
can be chalked up to my personal imperfection.

I am quite tired of an audience (even when invited) addressing my self worth as if I am a third party
and tying that together with esteem – with the ‘put your foot down’ speech
I have learned the lesson of humbled pride
I know my identity, I am familiar with my purpose
but everyone looks frail when they’re dressed up in sorrow
this is a rare aching, arching theme of sparred hope and expectation
but please don’t use my vulnerability as a chance to categorize
this episode as a good versus bad, get over it
we’re all bad here
some of us are just better at
shaking off the dirt

this is a case of conflict,
it has lasted long,
and there is no one left.
only so many prayers requesting clarity
can be sent to the sky
before my heart has been baked through
and my hands untied – just in time