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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2283398
I live in a “home” with a revolving roof;
when one roof is torn away, another takes its’ place-
none of them protect me from the rain.

Each roof tells me that they are righteous,
they are holy,
and if I am not as they are,
I can go outside, and drown.

I am never a good enough tenant.

Each roof tells of the overflowing gratitude I should have for them,
like just my being isn’t enough-
I have to garnish it to make it worthy.

Respect is earned;
I am bankrupt-
and they always remind me of just how much I owe them.

I know I’m supposed to applaud,
thank them for loving me,
as if they are sacrificing so much just to give me a second glance-

but I wish they could see just how hard I try, only to be of value to them.
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