Call to Arms

Another eleven I have created. My crimson tears.
You say it is my fault and I scream for my defense.
I am locked away and I vent but am only found, hate festering.
Let these eleven be for you. Let my anger and anguish be expressed.

I don’t want this anymore, to live this way. I don’t need this.
I don’t want anymore scars but you are my trigger to my 44 magnum.
Eventually I will point this damn thing to an area where I can’t recover
And what will YOU have to say for yourself? Nothing… It figures.

You call me idiotic and stupid but I know so much more of this world,
things you only wish that you could articulate. I know love and trust.
You have killed so many parts of me and I too have retaliated against you.
Let this be my final stand against you and let you know me.

This is me. My scars, My wounds, My WORDS! MY PAIN!
You’ve been my “inspiration”. You have been my reason.
Though you are few, you are deep within me and you will never leave.
You are what made me “Never Enough”! You are what caused this distrust.

Do you realize what you do to me daily?
Do you realize I DO NOT walk on eggshells but I MARCH through mounds of barbs!
Your words ARE NOT pin pricks but are deep GASHES into my flesh!
You are much more than you think.

Can I cry in front of you? Can I be weak? Can I bleed in front of you?
Can I be 16 years old? Can I be real? Can I be more than nothing?
Let this be heard and not be frowned upon. This is my scream.
This is my call to arms. This is MY way of saying, “Hello Father, Welcome to the Hell you’ve caused!”
I guess you are welcomed for the ride as well…