You sent me off into the world,
You looked rather proud, as if
I were on the right path, on the one
That was intended, on the one that you
Intended for me. I had no idea who I was
And had never learned how to listen to myself.
I made a lot of decisions thinking they were mine.
But I looked at your faces. The joy. The unknown that
Was mine. How you judged others because they stayed
And chose a different path that you deemed too normal,
In the short run. You dangled promises in front of my eyes
And I believed you, I swallowed your images whole and walked
The path, and I lost myself more and more, until I cracked
And found myself, on my knees reassembling the pieces anew
According to myself.
But it just would never be good enough, you had something
In mind, do things just like you, smooth, running, functional,
Going back to the roots, the motherhouse, the country of money,
(You never understood that I escaped, you never wanted to believe why)
The same patterns weaved into your life that I sense to be starving,
That was never me, but you wouldn’t want to see that, you wanted me
Behind you on your path and lifeline, dragging me along, thinking of
Me as invisible and integrated, money-making, money-absorbing, your
Constant idea of success, depression accepted as a side effect, the good life
Where money flows, in solitude, drowned in work without purpose,
Ungrateful, muddled.
You wanted me to become this, you wanted me to become that,
Without ever looking at the real deal, the reality of existences,
What certain choices meant in the world we live in, how hard
It would be to be who I truly am, to do what I truly feel is me,
And you’d never say the word that stepped into the room, failure,
Through your door,
On your mind, your old thought patterns and indoctrination and
Definitions of success, from the pest in your skull into mine, nebulous,
I tried to resist, I started to stick to my own guns, and all you can see is
The lack of possessions in my corner, that’s all you could ever see,
And put on an outdated pedestal.
The accumulation of senseless things, not the words I spoke, not the
Words I could speak, the worlds I could create in my brain, you judged
What I did with my hands, you know what?
I write with my whole body,
I write with my mind, I write with my heart, I didn’t let anyone
Transform me into a day to day ghost for a cause that isn’t my own.
Croque-Melpomene 