Conscience

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Conscience you always want something for nothing.
Conscience I’ve never understood you theory on my life.
We met May 31, 1993.
The beginning of the end.
Somewhat.
I can’t stand my own mind.
That’s why you overbearingly
control it.
Conscience, when will you ever end your way of thinking?
Go bother someone else.
You always know the right
thing to say at the wrong times.
I won’t finish this poem in my right mind
with your opinions of if I should say this,
or if I should put that.
Conscience when will you live through you
and not me?
When will you find yourself, and not myself?
When will you look at yourself through your reflection?
When do you do what you preach?
Your opinions are fine,
but I’m the one who is preaching
those opinions to others.
I have to deal with the ridicule,
and the secret whispers
behind my back.
I’m sick of the insane demands.
When can I go a day without listening to
you?
I hate having to always telling people
who I really am,
or what I really get into.
You always say that if I just tell
people, I feel much better,
but I see myself more as
a book when pages accidentally
fall into the eyes of another.
I don’t like being accounted for the
actions you make me do.
You know what I go through,
but you never do
anything about it.
You just expect me to always trust in what you say.
I can’t always just keep the faith.
Are you going to let my emotional life be run by you?
What have you been drinking on?
You can’t be straight edge.
Most of the time you speak as
a regrettable drunk.

Also, at the same time,
I don’t feel as if I can live without you.
No one has cared for me as much as you have.
All the rebellion,
and disobedience
I’ve placed upon you is
unforgivable like the Sean John
cologne for women.
You always know
the right things to say.
Oh great,
you got me talking
to myself again,
but it’s true,
I do love you.





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