You know that suffocating feeling, right?
Where you could cry or die or both, really.
Where you’re always wrong, even when you’re not.
Where maybe you should just stop talking now.
Because they hear just what they want to hear
With their synthetic souls and plaster hearts
Store-bought views and their parents’ big bad thoughts
How they drown out your screams with Hail Marys
And smother your lungs with Our Father who
Art in heaven, don’t let her breathe again.