You’re the boat no one dares to rock.
You’re the nails digging into my skin refusing to let go.
You’re the fragile glued-together vase that no one wants to break.
You’re the virus glitching out my brain.
You’re the travel agent giving away free guilt trips.
You’re the voice whispering behind my back.
You’re the projector and I am the screen.
You’re the judge and the jury of my life.
You’re the loud voice drowning out my own.
You’re the tornado tearing through my life.
I am a boat built to handle every wave that threatens to drown me.
I am ripped from your desperate grasp now.
I am a vase made of steel instead of glass.
I am scanning my brain and deleting the viruses.
I am no longer packing my bags and accepting your tickets to the guilt trip.
I don’t hear the whispering anymore because you’ve pushed me so far away.
I am no longer a screen to project your delusions on; I’m a freaking mirror sending it all right back to you.
I am not on trial and you are not my judge and jury.
I’m making my own voice heard now.
I built a fortress around everything I love so no tornado can destroy it. Never again.