You sit there and tell us your ideals. But
When did your ideas validate what my
Actions must be? Did you inherit
Your crown when you stepped into
The room? If I step into another
Room, do I get a crown too?
My creative words are validated by your pen
But I’d rather play a game full of sin
I don’t want a grade to define me
When I can do just fine with me
Do I need to be validated to be real?
I don’t need your words to tell me how to feel.
Even as you give me an A, I don’t want to see
Because you knew that’s not who I wanted to be
You knew – as I thought I knew – that I must grow
Not with your validation but from what you know