I was held captive

as the mood changed suddenly—

still trying to process

that you said

you had to “humble” me.

Dumb look on my face,

I rewind my memory

like a cassette tape,

wondering what I said

or did to you in the first place.

I skip through the small talk,

the parts where

the conversation was flattering.

I never cut you off

or did too much chattering.

You asked me

who I’d like to be,

and all the things I like to do.

That’s when I got excited—

my passions could fill

a freakin’ room.

I thought I had

a listening ear.

I was actually grateful—

never noticed

your long talons

or the green

that danced across your face.

You were hateful.

A sharp twist in theme—

you told me,

realis-ti-cally,

I couldn’t be that good

at anything

I dare to dream.

Bold of me to assume

you didn’t mean to be rude.

When I asked you why you said that,

you chuckled and said,

“I had to humble you.”