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Sorrow entwined with anger

To create a type of rage.

Despite what I’ve  learned,

I cannot turn the page,

Or put it in its cage.

Perhaps because I know,

Its turned into a flame 

That engulfs past shame.

I  know ” to rely,”

Is critical to growth,

Yet when I really try,

And open up my soul,

I’m told I want too much.

They can’t meet this need,

That I’m an open wound,

Part of my mother’s seed.

 I’m told I want a crutch,

That my effort to rely,

Is just a form of greed.

Impatiently, they sigh.

My self curls up, 

And I begin to cry

From trying hard to give,

From learning how to trust.

I feel my self die 

In many different ways.

I know that I live

With only half a heart.

Having a balance

Is a learned art.

Allowing time’s a must.

When I’m told, ” I fail,”

It’s not done with malice,

“It’s for my own good.” 

It comes across as callous.

It’s a ” this and ” situation

That tears me apart.

I’m filled with frustration.

I’m doomed at the start. 

It’s an awful sensation.