What About Me?

As I sit back and reminisce about my day, I ponder all the happenings that came to play. All the concessions, all the bargaining, all the ways I gave in; My stomach drops as if I've committed an egregious sin. Why is always about they want? I'm constantly preaching about boundaries and maintaining them, Yet mine at the slightest breeze seem to snap like a stem. It feels like sacrifice after sacrifice is made in the name of peace But none of my own turmoil halts to a cease. Why are my feelings always discarded? As the sun sets and we disperse to attend to our own lives, I feel like fish fileted by dull knives. I rest my spinning head and try to reach some sort of closure For my dreams won't come without some sort of composure. Why do I always fall by the wayside?