There’s that reprimanding voice
Then the condescending tone
There’s the look of disapproval
And I look down on the floor
Why am I here, I ask myself
But I already know the answer.
Now I know what it means to feel like love has taken me as prisoner.
There’s the sigh of frustration
And then the throwing of the hands in the air with more pressure and strain.
There’s the silent treatment after
And the answer Nothing to my constant What’s Wrong
There’s the lack of information
And the omission of the truth
Followed by the denial of ever lying
And the accusations of mistrust and being misunderstood.
There’s your privacy and mine
The in between grey area
Which I wouldn’t dare to cross
Afraid of finding more than I’d bargained for
There’s walking on hot coals
Or skating on thin ice
There’s the commentary about everything
Sometimes, not very nice
There’s the I always do everything wrong
While I’m trying to do everything right
There’s the ever-lasting, mind exhausting, gut wrenching fight
Where things are said that no one means
And believing that only seems to soften the already devastating blow
Ever so slightly
And then I’m sorry,
Though I’m not always sure why
But it’s better that way
At least I won’t cry
Or I’ll try not to, because it worsens the war
And before I know it, it’s over
Back to before
With the look and the sigh and the reprimanding
And I’m left with the recurring question I’m afraid of asking
Why Am I Here?
