I do not know
when my dreams
became your kingdom,
turning a blind eye
as you trimmed my creativity
from torrent to drizzle,
and my wings to fit
your comfort zone.
There seems to be
no middle ground
between your need to control
and my desire for freedom,
so all we have turned into
are two stubborn generals
taking a stand
on opposite hills.
Dressed in resignation
and chained by a sense of duty,
we brace ourselves for
being penned up in a room
full of people wearing
importance and faux smiles
in their chase of acknowledgement
and admiration.
I adore you, you know,
you are so much better at
making the best
of any given situation,
mingling gracefully
while I, ever pensive,
try to get to the bottom
of my aversion for
social gatherings like this.
So I cling to my glass
of whatever is fashionable
at the moment, in the hope
it will drown my non-compliant
notions, and keep my inner rebel
under lock and key.
november child 