Don’t Tread on Me

The sun is down the moon is out and as I turn in to try and rest

a disturbance keeps sleep away and I feel I should confess.

I’ve made every effort to hold it in, trust me I’ve done my best,

but now I’m shooting away, I hope you have a bulletproof vest.

You may ask: Are you mad? Yes!

I kept my head down as a sign of respect, kept feelings deeply repressed

thinking: Maybe this time won’t be like the rest.

But with each vow of silence, the situation progressed.

Don’t tread on me just because you’re stressed.

I will hold you up but I’m not your footrest.

Don’t tread on me because you feel depressed.

How is drowning me going to bring you happiness?

Don’t tread on me, life is not a contest.

We each have our path with our own quest,

but you make it seem like it’s a timed test,

climbing on the backs of peers for the sake of self-interest.

Your words aren’t painless, they’re an ammunition chest.

They taste awfully bitter and are hard to digest.

Don’t tread on me like I’m a pest,

making me collateral damage to your life’s mess.

I’m not at fault and frankly, I’m unimpressed.

I thought you better than this pettiness.

My only fault was to keep this suppressed

but now I’m on the verge of cardiac arrest,

and it behooves me to speak, to get this off my chest.

I’m drowning in my anger and this is my life vest.

I’m just a human, if you need healing send God your request.

Don’t tread on me, please leave me be and let me rest.

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