The one born to care
Disgusts me with her petty mind
Strikes and claws her way to the top
Lifting her chin and staring us down
We are of no value to her.
"It's for your own good," she says with a smirk
Because I'm not enough for her; never will be
Rejection is sweet, yet sorrow is sweeter
Without you I would be turned to dust
Black as the soul of the night earth
Dry and brittle and fragile.
You life me up again, help me be strong again
For the woman that should have done so
Is too busy with her next victim
And petty minds never cease to sting.