Blameless

I hate feeling weak.

The feeling that you cannot change where you are in life,

That invisible chains bind you to your fate.

I get angry when I realize that I am sub-par;

That those I love prefer me another way.

That my efforts are for naught.

They prefer me thinner;

Stronger.

They prefer my writing be more polished;

Like the authors of old, whose classics are legend.

I want them to shut up.

To tell them that they are wrong and to leave me alone.

But when I actually sit and think...

After my blood stops boiling,

After the thoughts that perhaps I am not good enough subsides...

Do they really feel this way?

Am I incensed with them,

Or do I have issues with myself...

Furious that I cannot be who I want to be.

And I take it out on others

So I can hide behind the mask of being blameless?