207. The Ego Nourishes On Blood (For E)

"It's the right thing to do"

Accompany two dangerous words:

Certainty, for one.

Nothing more than sugar.

Believing, doubtlessly we would be,

Friends until we no longer breathed.

I couldn't help but SCREAM,

Having guarantee ripped from me.

Assuredness is simply,

Stereotype coated in candy.

Like a therapist

Reading something outdated.

Chanting their words to be fated.

Of course it's fair to be pissed.

When professionals prescribe bias,

Because listening makes ideology a mess.

Perhaps you may find prediction in a robot,

But a human is bound to stir up the pot.

Some may say,

It's to propel you towards excellence,

But to me,

It can be an excuse for negligence.

So alluring to seek this one out:

They call this devil, Potential.

Strive until it hurts,

Strive until there's BLOOD, sweat, and tears.

So the ego may sip it's nectar.

Work your bones until death,

Work until you're addicted,

To meth.

You could be,

So much smarter.

You could be,

So much prettier.

You could be,

So much better.

You could be,

So much happier,

Without this shame.

Now,

To strip away the poetics,

In favor of vulnerability:

I miss you, still to this day.

I hope people stop questioning your innocence.

I wish you never had to worry for foul play.

These are just my two cents.

I volunteer to be the one crying more than there's water at sea.

Thanks for getting me comfortable in the spotlight.

Even if it means life without me.

For you to be happy is my plight.

I hope I let you feel seen.

Because by you, I no longer felt obscene.

I love you.