A Repetitive Argument
He tells me that he is the key, and I am the door.
He is the bridge to all that I must remember.
He thinks that keys aren’t as important as doors.
He doesn’t realize that not every door requires a key to open it.
He doesn’t realize
How I chose to close myself up
When they told me I was crazy,
And I learned how to hide
And get by in this world.
I think that I’d rather be a key or a bridge, or a means to an end
Than to be what I am,
Pining after the touch of a friend.