my house is filled with egg shells
they cover the carpets like jagged white snow..
we walk on them every time
you open the door, laptop in hand,
scowl on your face, telling me
"I don't even want to come home anymore."
i just keep trying and trying but
nothing is good enough.
all my good intentions are lost
when everything i touch fucks up
so i'm just gonna hide here
under my blankets in this cozy bed
and pretend it doesn't bother me
that everything i do turns to shit -
really, what is it -
something's got to give.
my feet are scratched up and
my hands are bloody too
from trying too hard to hide the tears
that i'm not ready to work through.
i've done the best i can
and i'm still losing this fight,
the battle i'm waging aginst myself
over what is wrong and what is right.
all i know is who i am
and who i'm still learning to be
and it's no one else's decision to judge
my place in society -
you can take your pasted smile
and the person you pretend to be
back to the sand box with your
elementary school buddies
and play Xbox until you drop-
i'll be over here doing my thing,
'cause you can't make me stop.