the straight path

if you were so perfect
if you were so simple
if there is a straight path
why do i keep tripping
why do i find dead end streets
boulders in my way
forcing me to twist my body into painful contours to fit around you
and through you.

if you were so perfect
and you were so timeless
why do your henchmen stutter
and why do their hearts race
and their temples drip sweat
when they have to decide
whether to preserve you
or risk chipping away at your legitimacy

hearts wrench pain
pleasing and fearing you
some born into
fate decided, before words spoken