torn

sliding down this inclined plane called depression
my priorities seemed to have floated into the hands of others, as i sit here and realize, i don't want to be a star
yes, i do have conflicting thoughts towards this place where artists gather,
but nay, it is not their fault
it is no one's fault
if there is someone to blame
i would find the culprit to be myself
as they ask me why i am so quiet
i have no response
for exactly that reason, i am quiet
there is nothing to be said

so much on my plate
but many will beg to differ, for there is not enough on my plate
or perhaps what is on my plate, is what i do not hunger for
but i don't even know what i'm ordering
now i hold up the line
so i just order the whole menu
but this does not fulfill me

i don't know what i'm getting at
nor do i know where i'm at now
i know, though, there is no smile on my face
and my mouth has no desire to open
other than to allow smoke to dance from my lips
and behind closed lips my soul screams
for what? i don't know
am i supposed to know? shouldn't i know?

my mother claimed she failed in raising me, she failed she says
what am i supposed to do about that?
how do i rectify that?
she said those stabbing words, but yet we laid side by side on her bed last night
but i failed still
because a 3.5 isn't good enough and the fact that i got a solo and in the spotlight isn't good enough, that i am directing and in a performance piece isn't good enough, that i'm just fucking me,
is not good enough
then my father sits across from me and doesn't want me to work for gloria, my father wants to know what i am to do about my future, my father says i'm not a little girl anymore, my father asks where am i going to go
and isabel asks if the career i'm in is really for me really, and tamrah sprouts out bullshit about how i'm respected and i stomp on people's feelings

what the fuck is good enough?
as i slide further down, i begin to realize whatever is enough, i'm not it
i begin to see some picture clearly, i begin to feel wrong
attempting to block off all sound
i wish for a disaster so i don't have to confront what may not be
what everyone wants of me
not wanting to be the interruption of great possibilities
and wanting to bow out of things i don't really want to be part of
and i still can not block out sound
knowing that this is just the beginning of the sound
yes my priorities have fallen in the hands of others
am i enough?
how did i get myself in a torn state, why am i not good enough to promote

i found a spider on my neck wanting to suck my blood
my thoughts scatter blanketing this page
controlling my handwriting making sure i write in a straight line
avoiding what i really want said

do i want to go to college?
in these last days of 17, what, i ponder, am i to do with my life?
i close my eyes to avoid reality
my body tingles all over
is that supposed to mean something?

back to this environment that offers me nothing
i am trapped, i grow up, but i am still untouchable, can not be touched, can not be admired, can not grow up
can not make a decision for myself
who's fault? as said before
no one's
if someone must be to blame, myself

what am i capable of... everything
(so it's said)
these footsteps i follow are not my own, basically
well obviously not my own
because every time i put my foot in these foot in these footsteps of yesterday, my foot is much smaller than the outline left for me
i'm not sure if this is what i want to do because i want to do it, or if they want me to do it, or maybe they don't want me to do it, it is assumed i want to do it
but i also know if i leave now, i cannot return
i cannot and will not- torn