Inner Child

I feel like I've been trying  
to stack wooden play blocks  
my whole life, and everytime,  
someone comes along and  
kicks them all  
down. 

My mother,   
teachers,  
the other kids;  
their games...

Overtime, it's become more difficult  
to stack them because I worry  
someone else will kick it all down  
again. 

I've lived with this worry for things  
I don't have any control over,  
and I keep rebuilding, starting over  
and over again, and... 

It's the same thing everytime.  
They are just wooden blocks.  
They aren't going to frame a home,  
happiness, or a life for me.  
They can't withstand more than they are–  
a chance to believe in myself. 

Now my hand trembles with anxiety  
for what comes next, if I even try to put  
one on top of another. 

I feel destroyed inside,  
and I don't wanna play anymore.