My first real shot at poetry. It's a meandering of my chlidhood. Even though I finished it, something doesn't feel right. Constructive Criticism would be greatly greatly appreciated.

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It took years to realize,
years to open my eyes
to just what happened in my life,
those true causes of my strife
I grew up young to stay sane,
since the educators said I had a smart brain.
So I became enslaved to other's whims,
a puppet with invisible strings.

My creative thoughts watered down,
my dreams given the runaround.
Others tried to live through me,
while I was too naive to see
just what they were doing.

I grew to love to sing,
to love musical things.
So I learned to play the clairinet,
while others listened with controlling intent.
When I got good, I was soon hurt,
when I was forced to play private concerts.

I listened to my parents fight,
and tried to figure out who was right.
When confronted with the facts, my parents lied,
like suddenly their "smart" kid's brain had died.
So I figured I'd give this lying a shot,
grew quite skilled, rarely got caught.
When I did, it didn't really matter,
got a slap on the wrist and was told to behave better.

I enjoyed reading, about the world, present and past.
Then started writing, vowing to make this fun last.
Couldn't write an essay on some school topic,
but I could write a story on a voyage through the tropics.
Ended up keeping my stories in my mind,
greiving as they faded away with time.

Then I reached adolesence, the teenage years,
and went looking for freedom, like what my peers
told me about, about staying up late and watching TV,
Transforming to Halo, the Xbox and Playstation 3.
I'll admit, I ended up with an insaitiable lust,
for their things, it just felt unjust,
that I worked under the threat of an invisible whip,
with few rewards, I couldn't even make a quip
without facing one threat or another,
so eventually, I decided "Why bother"?

Life seemed pointless, there was no fun,
it seemed to never get better, so I was done.
Yeah, that's right, I once thought of suicide,
it felt like the only way to end the tide
flooding my head, of other's desires
Damn, back then I felt so tired.

That set off some alarms, as you can tell,
otherwise this story wouldn't exist, well
not much changed, it was so asinine,
I was forced on therapy and sertraline.
Finally, I was finished with the bullshit,
so I refused the pills, went against the lit,

Literature, that is, those magical words,
that were supposed to help heal the wounds
"You'll feel better", was their everlasting chant,
and that hurt me more, and it helped plant,
the idea that only I knew what caused my strife,
since of course, no one else lived my life.

So I tried to break the invisible chains,
wrapped around my "inteligent" brain.
I grew emancipated in my thought,
which was against all that I was taught.
"you can do anything you want", they'd always say,
"Oh, except that, that, and that. No way!"

Sick of the hypocricy, sick of the lies,
sick of those damned invisible ties,
to other's fast-fading influence,
Soon, now, I'll be free to dance,
and sing and write and all the other things,
and all for me, not for other beings.