Without facts

I'm becoming inept,
with this anxiety that I've kept,
aboard this vehicle,
which is just about to crest,
I'm left,
with this pain I've had inside,
stop the lying,
my inner soul is secretly spying,
and letting me know,
that I should stay in my hole,
benevolent requests,
are drowned in nothingness,
I'm sick of fighting,
with my own insight,
lowering my standards to please those who think they're right,
all the time,
but they're not,
when I give it second thought,
my experience tells me,
that they're just making me rot,
if I know that I am,
and I know what I can,
why do I put up with their insiduous demands,
they're nothing,
worth the dirt on my shoe,
I've lived what you're preaching,
so let your god deliver you...

...to freedom,
and acceptance,
I'm not the type to test,
I'll leave you in a mess,
of my own self pity,
that you promote of me,
but as you trip on your own feet,
I'll bury you in the proof you need to seek...

...that shows I'm right and you're wrong,
in my life your attitude don't belong,
don't chastize what I say,
because I'll defend it in every way,
when I know I'm accurate, leaving you nothing to say,
I usually stay silent,
without getting violent,
but when I stand for what I know,
and you're talking out your blowhole,
know,
that you can kiss my ass,
as I say
"I'm not sorry, sorry, I'm just statin' the facts"

© Steve Bertrand aka. stevieb 20110910