You spend the day shouting curses,
But I am not one to fall under so well.
You try to make me cry,
But I shall not allow you such
a privilege of delight.
Sometimes I don't want to sit still and take
in all of their venomous words,
droning on and on like a broken record.
But my heart cannot bear flying into a
rage,
My energy,
wasted on the likes of a person
of yourself.
You will not sap my soul into
your dark jaws,
nor kill me with the sharp knife
that you hold.
"What is your excuse?"
You ask,
a fervent look in your eyes.
Raison D'être,
my justification for living,
my reason for being,
No one,
not even a ruling figure that you so claim
to be,
can and will ever take my life away.
A/N
Raison D'être is a French word meaning "Justification for living, reason for being"
I found it by chance in the dictionary and wrote a poem about it years ago.
