I’d like to think I do a lot,
That I do more than what is asked.
But then again, I’d rather not,
For my discontent can’t be masked.
I don’t appreciate it when my love and affection isn’t reciprocated.
If I work hard and try my best,
I should accept that’s to expect.
If I slack off and fail my test,
Lack of trying, they will detect.
I do this and I do that,
But I shouldn’t dare point it out.
If I do, I’ll be a brat,
Who only knows how to pout.
But, only to an extent and I wish people wouldn’t constantly test me. My heart can only give so much until I’ve got nothing else to give.