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What is left when the anger’s gone?
What can fill the void?
Is this all I am,
All I’ll ever be?
Don’t I deserve more?
More credit,
More time,
More slack?
Or Don’t I matter as much as you?
Am I not as valuable?
Does it not matter that I bleed red too?
I wish you’d think,
I wish you’d stop
But as long those around you
Keep excusing you
And validating your bad behaviour,
You never will.
So, yet again,
It’s left to others to pick up the peices.
When will you be satisfied?