I'm fashionably late to loving myself

what else?

what else do you want from me?

my blood, my sweat, my tears?

my nights spent twisting and turning,

for your incompetence in providing comfort?

what else does your hunger crave?

a reputation, a crowd, a cheer?

my hands shaking in distrust,

for your lack of love and support?

what else does your hand crave?

the stings on touching my flesh?

have I not shed enough worth off myself,

or is even my disparage too small?

why else do you chase me?

I'm not your dreams, not your savior.

your incompetence in fighting for your dreams

is not my burden to bear.

we're not bound by blood I know,

for there's not even a little fear.

might I fall off, sway away, or wither

for your greed is far firmer a gear.

I seek revile and grief upon you,

no more do I seek your bliss.

for no matter what hurt I have borne through life,

no mere man has made me go through this!