determined determinism

I attach myself to what I know won't stay.
Because it's safer that way.
Because if they found something
wrong with me, well,
I knew they would anyway.

I've been spending some time 
with my three-year-old self.
My subconscious persistently
pulls this same book off the shelf.
I'm old enough to be her mother,
but I just can't seem to get her attention
long enough to point out her cover
that no one took the time to mention:
all of this anger and conviction
and survival tactics that were used.
I'm expected to put away childish things,
and it just leaves me more confused.

Because it's always been one big sham,
long before I had the ability to plan.
This so-called pure being
hasn't been around since
before I can recall.
Like a fleeting father figure,
too weak to stay 
and hold my hand through it all.

According to the psychologists,
this is the reason I can't look you in the eye.
I haven't taken a stand on the theory,
all I know is 
I'm more comfortable in disguise.

So I guess I've been bred to run
at the first sign of sincerity.
I guess the way you genuinely care
just repulses me.
Because when they find something wrong,
I expect it.
Because if you found something wrong, 
that would be the end.
When they point out what isn't connected
I reject it.
If you saw this deficiency,
I couldn't contend.

You see straight through me,
I can't pretend.

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