Deepest Afflictions to Random Speculations

The Middle

I feel a lot like I'm caught in the middle
Of some Civil War among men.
And I know it sounds like I'm speaking in riddles,
It's true, my life's one big question.

And is it my fault for leading them on?
For being something they can't have?
Is it my fault, did I play them like pons?
For them wanting me, for me playing halves?

And I feel more like an object than anything,
Like a trophy they're fighting to win.
They're brawling for me in some boxing ring,
And don't know who for they went in.

And still, neither love me, so surely—
They don't even know who I am.
They make decisions about me without me!
It's they're egos that really get rammed.

So thanks, but no thanks, for your concern;
I can definitely handle myself.
I'm just so sorry that I never learn,
And fooled you both and who else, so farewell.