beneath the weight of their constant gaze,
i live in protest, day by day.
like a book with pages torn and bent,
their love is all i’ve ever known, but it’s spent.
they hover like the morning fog, thick and cold,
each decision made for me, each move controlled.

they love me, yes—i know that it’s true,
but their love, so heavy, pulls me through.
like the catcher in the rye, i want to shout,
to break the chains, to figure it out.
but all i hear are echoes of their worry,
their whispered fears, their endless hurry.

they tell me i’m fragile, they tell me i’m weak,
as if i can’t find the words i seek.
like gilead's priests, they stand and they wait,
to guide my steps, to dictate my fate.
but i’m not the great gatsby, a dream in the dark,
i’m just a child, trying to leave a mark.

in the space between love and control,
i’m a river that can’t find its flow.
they wrap me up in a cocoon of care,
but i’m choking on air, and i can’t find repair.
like the house on mango street, i’m trapped,
each word, each move, feels like a map
leading me back to where i began,
tied to their hearts, caught in their plan.

they wait outside my door at night,
as if my dreams are things they must fight.
they think they can protect me from the fall,
but they’re building walls, brick by brick, tall.
i just want to run like the grapes of wrath,
find my own way, carve my own path.

i love them, yes, more than they’ll ever know,
but in their arms, how can i grow?
i want to breathe without their hands,
to feel the earth beneath my stance.
but i’m still their child, bound to their care,
walking a line that isn’t fair.

like holden caulfield, i’m weary and lost,
wanting to escape, but paying the cost.
they say they’re saving me from the world outside,
but i’m drowning in love i can’t abide.
they say, "it’s for your own good," and i want to scream,
but my voice is quiet, lost in their dream.

so i walk in their footsteps, though i’m unsure,
with their love and their fear, always so pure.
i’m caught between the past and the future,
like hester prynne in her quiet torture.
their love is a cage, but it’s all i know,
a familiar weight i can’t overthrow.

and i wonder, sometimes, if they’ll ever see,
that love can set you free, not just keep you from the sea.
but i’m still their child, and they’re still my guides,
and maybe, just maybe, i’ll find my own strides.
till then, i’ll carry their love, and their weight,
a ship adrift in their storm, trying to find my fate.