so what if I play your games,
you'll still never approve:
you'll yell and cream and bitch
and on again I'll move.
when my hand sets the pawn
it's always out of place.
you'll come around and tell me off
as if I cowered at your face.
and when I turn and speak
of past incidences and such,
you'll deny them to your death
that they ever happened so much.
so go and open that mouth,
I won't listen when you speak.
flail and try to strike me,
I'll keep dodging out of reach.
I don't know where I got my grace,
for certain none came from you,
for as you try to stomp towards me
I'll keep dancing out of view.