Poetic Injustice

2

I think I might be alright.

All the lies you fed me took over my appetite.

When you were done, I could not identify

from virtuous wrong or harrowing right.

But I gotta thank you for my fractured insight.

I see through cracks like black and white.

I've begun to shine the light on another fight--

It doesn't belong to me but what I write.

I've found a new interest, something I like:

I delight in helping others calm the stormy night,

persuading people to put away their knife,

and most of all... Trying to save someone's life.

You won't freeze my heart zero below Fahrenheit;

I won't let you destroy my happiness with dynamite.

You are not my playwright and I'm sick of being polite.

I hated you that night, all I wanted with spite

was for my days to be set upright

so I could turn around and see through your eyes.

You had no right to send my angst an invite

and let yourself live without a manner recondite.

But I forgive you because you lost sight

and saw you couldn't my righteous guide.

No matter what you do, mom, you'll always be mine.