They Said, "I Was Meek."

i make one thousand different faces, i save them for all the different moments. so i can out do you. and you wage a war with your working class grin. and you don't pick up on it but everyone finds you to be a mediocre person, nothing special. and i'm tempted to walk right up to you and laugh, i'd like to make you cry. but that's when you'd go into a dance, sidestepping all of everything real that i've asked you to relinquish, to reveal. undo those buttons, and take off that top - what's the problem? is your skin stretched too thin, are you scared to admit you're a regular and the trash company you keep can't bring you down because you're already there? but you're a soldier - the heavy armor is wearing you out, weighing you down. it's a fascinating problem. and all the witnesses to the scripts of you and i, kept themselves distant and perched at a height neither of us could climb. and you sat still as they dissected every bit of all the inches that brought us here, and you never once interrupted, tried to silence the curses these people brought forth. it poisoned us, and tortured me. i was muted by people who would never advocate for us. and one specific time, i knew what you were getting to. i couldn't look you in the eye, i stared down and buttoned my winter jacket, avoiding their questions coming from your mouth - they started a fire that i couldn't douse. i was meek.

Tribulation (The Trouble) < Trials (The Attempt)

here with you, but off to the side, after days the pain subsides
i watch you with the fury of all the bitter days

but handling it can only surely save me

from the candid pain

walking through the doors, i walk a step behind

living in the last season, there's still so much to find

i'm in a bout of rain, that i bring to the engagements
that only seems to stop when snow hits the pavement

my suicidal thoughts, while branching off from lavish lessons

erupt with flimsy reason, slams me to the prior season
while in this backward motion, i continue on
i never get to rid of you, my face red as i recite
this awful situation back to the pages in my diary
it's like reading a future where repetition's not easy
one day after then next, all filled with fear
jumping off the pages are solemn scenes,
with all the same faces
i erase and rip them up to save me from imitation

but

i want to ask you simple questions

given with a steady voice

without all of the flowery emotion

you've heard so much before