Half Right

You're no private school;
there's tradition in all the rules.
If only it were easy,
like one less head, an empty seat, but
I've got voices that follow me.
They talk to me,
condescendingly.

You're no math exam;
I can't study my way into being a man,
or cheat inside of any class,

because this is only fail or pass.

I've got voices that condemn me:
they're temporary,
as is my sanity.

You're no flag salute;
I sing anthems in a tie and suit,
but they don't mean a thing
if I don't believe in what I sing.
I've got lyrics that betray me,
as if they hate me.
They hate me.

You're a book to read,
half of which I'll never see.
You're a voice in me,
half of which I'll never hear.

~06/2007