The Walls of Repetition

Sometimes you make me feel like an idiot.

Like my clumsy at times absent-mindedness is such an inconvenience.

Mostly I just shut up because you're right;

Though you don't say it, I can hear it in the tone of your voice,

In when you slam things around like you're frantically trying to take it out on the world;

I'm stupid, and frustrating and contrary to what I like people to believe 

HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING.

Then you smile and expect me to smile back up at you from where you knocked me down.

And maybe its not on purpose;

Maybe I don't know what I am talking about.

But this hot and cold isn't running so smooth over my skin any more.
I've grown tired of the blisters and terrified of the chill;
The acid of your good intentions peals it all away until I am left with nothing;
Nothing but these scars and some good memories,
And it seems I do nothing but defend these scars.
And you're good and sweet and I'm so messed up.
At the pit of who I am I can hear these walls screaming at me,
Whispering to me, telling me lies parading as truths;
It doesn't matter how dressed up they are, these walls and their melting corners
Are just exactly what I know,
Where I have been a thousand times before.
And really you don't mean to.
But by all means build your height on pieces of me as I fight to keep dignity in tact,
Simply because I feel trapped inside the same ancient room