The Sky Doesn't Pressure Me

Stuck In Their Warm Yellow Honey Bath

How can you idolize me? 

I'm itching to become like them, made of honey

Do your preying eyes see someone good enough?

I follow their trail of dripping substance 

Would you like me better if I was less abrasive

and my mind didn't have a voice

if my lungs abundantly agreed with your choices?

You watch me now panting, exasperated 

I wonder if all my alterations have you dazed

Perhaps you believe these impersonal quirks are a phase

You are watching through the beloved mirror

I've changed external needs to fit this "ideal"

I'll never be my old skin, cried limpid gold tears

My goal was to discover my own depth 

but I got stuck in their warm yellow honey bath

What I don't understand is how I could try so hard

and end up less than good enough