THIS IS ME, I AM A BOY

I was welcomed by a wall of sound,
but it wasn't true, just like last time.

There are times when I want to pick people up and shake them,
because they are hurting their friends so much,
but I am weak;
I can't be a saint just yet.
Or is it:
(because they are hurting me so much,
but I love all of it;
I can't be stable just yet.)
Dear brother
I hope not.

But my brother isn't the one who's looking down upon me;
it's your eyes, it's your power; it's you.

I don't want want control.
I want you to control me,
guide my hand,
bend my spine without caring whether or not it breaks,
open my eyes to that which will both drive me mad
and bring a crushing hope upon my spirit,
fill my lungs with flames of azure until they collapse from the sheer
joy of it.

Please.
I'm handing you my heart.
Know that it will fight to keep on beating.
You will use it far better than I.