I was crowned the glue
before I knew the game.
Built the walls, held the line,
took the blame.
Matriarch medal
with a rusted shine—
drained my blood,
called the burden mine.
Mama at the sink
with her bitter parade,
one-liners flying
like kitchen grenades.
Patriarch shadow
with his holy disguise,
feeding me lines
to cut her down to size.
Taught to pivot
before I could cry.
Call it truth,
but I learned it’s a lie.
Skip the wreckage,
say it “didn’t fit”—
but the baggage don’t burn
if you’re still hauling it.
Control in a mask,
care as a disguise.
Fix for a mess
I didn’t devise.
Praise with no pay,
rules never mine.
Chains dressed in gold—
I’m cutting the line.
Who put me in charge?
I don’t want your crown.
You can keep your kingdom,
I’m burning it down.
Not my script,
not my scene.
Not my job
to keep you clean.
Who put me in charge?
Not me, not now.
I’m out the door—
you can figure it out.

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