Crucible

Will you see me for who I am?

Or believe who I say I am?

Or invent who you think I am?

Or dream of who you wish I was?

Or fear who you thought I could be?

I have a future, just as I

have a past. Presently I cry,

for present is where beauty lies.

The moments rush past so quickly,

but you’re always captive to dreams.

You mask the me that I am now.

You wear a blindfold and allow

your illusion freedom. Somehow

I am the one who saves, endowed

with greatness. I am perfect?

I will always disappoint you.

Your expectations are askew,

and hide me though I’m in plain view.

The crucible born through your eyes

will be written on my soul forever.

The steps from person to person

doesn’t matter. I yet worsen

as the new is the same version

of what I left behind. I still

face the crucible from your eyes.

Parent, or be it children, they

still expect me to go “their way.”

How am I supposed to change today

to the invention they produced

through the crucible in their eyes.

I wage my war against the me

that they invented despite me.

I know it is hard to believe,

but even today, you haunt me

with the crucible of your eyes.