Power Trip

You suck the creative out of me.
You suck the energy out of me.
You suck the me out of me.
Don't know how to be who I am. Don't even know if I want to be who I am.
Who ever the fuck that is.

You have books. They're hidden on the shelf. "Hidden." Can't hide that. Not from me. Not from anyone.
About adopted children. Like I'm anything different. Like any stranger would know me better than you.
Apparently they do.

You look at me oddly now. When I say something, anything about gay.
You think there's something wrong with me.
If I want to stand up against self-centered, opinionated, ignorant, idiotic jerks then there must be something wrong with ME.
Must be a fruitcake.

I'm not trustworthy. I need to trust you so that you can trust me.
I need to trust you so that you can search through my stuff.
Serves you right if I'm a dirty fucking liar.
Serves you right if I'm a fruitcake.

You failed.
You failed in me.
I failed in me.

I hate me.
I don't hate you. I pretend I do, but I don't.
I hate that you made me.
Not literally, but you formed me.
You tried to influence me and change me and make me, but you failed.

You wanted a copy.
You failed there too.
I'm not a copy. I'm not a clone.
I'm my own person.
I'm not you, or her, I'm me.
Just me.

You sure screwed up there, didn't you?

I hate me.
I hate that you made me.

I hate ugly me.
I hate fat me.
I hate scrawny me.
I hate little me.
I hate short me.
I hate stupid me.
I hate immature me.
I hate superior me.
I hate angry me.
I hate every me.

I hate you me.
I hate the you I see in me.

I hate the me I see in you.