Don’t Press Me

If love is knowable, then so must be hate
And with that a thousand days of get me outta heres,
untie me nows, and I must undo these fates.
So why the promises, why the pain
when all I feel is rich disdain?

If I could shout to the world right now,
if I could see it through-
I’d screw that Lady Macbeth courage
Right through my own heart true.
I hate the fact that I am weak
That what I feel doesn’t make my feet
walk the plank a thousand times
or even once for sure.

I’ve done what I thought all promises meant,
I’ve stuck through all the thick and thin
and then, of course, there were the slurs,
and gabs, and stabs, and painful words
I’ve stuck through nights that others thought
were fun, and light, living hell, but not
the happy daytime reverie, so why’d I do that?
Why indeed?

It’s all because
I thought it meant something.

But now, I realize that mold is what some are
and when it’s time to call it quits, I’ll find the
door somehow. You think that doormats
don’t have spine; well, press me now
and I’ll show you mine.
It’s about damn time.

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