I am placed in two extremes
where I serve, or I am queen.
Where power is passed from you to me
or is held just out of reach.
I wake up knowing that you chose me,
then spend the day questioning when you will leave.
I brag about the "rock" that you have been,
and then left speechless reading the text you so quickly send.
One day I taste of the love you sing-
settle in the comfort that security brings...
And before the sun hides and the weight of the day is through,
you're see-sawing leaves me trying again to understand you.
You stand to help me when I climb,
and rejoice regardless of what I find.
And before you take my hand to guide me as I crawl,
you step away and ignore my fall.
In the sun, in the rain-floating high or unprecedented pain,
I am expected to accept my place,
Held first in your heart or fighting to keep pace.
I allowed you to become too powerful,
Trusting that you could handle a heart on a plate that was already full
So I will give you what you say you need,
as I take my place back in "the middle" of ME.
