You're The One That I Want

You tell me I can't have it.
But I want it.
You say I'm not ready.
But I want it.
You tell me to refocus my attention and intentions and expectations.
But I want it. And I want it more still.
 And your holding me back but I'm reaching,
until my bones reach past my skin.
Until my hands are trying to pry yours off me.
Screaming for me to stop and come to my senses and think.
But all I can hear is my voice as I claw your arms and kick your grip.
Your not ready! YOU'RE NOT READY!
BUT I AM! I'M READY! I'VE BEEN READY I'LL SHOW YOU!
Your shreds and ribbons under my fingernails,
hanging from my hands as I run from your constraints and into it. And I don't stop.
When I see this white, glass ball
I snatch it from the column and snigger with excitement.
 I knew I could, I knew I was ready.
And I grabbed tightly and it shattered. And now the blood in my hands is
Mine and now the shards in my Palm are my own.
 And I've ruined it.
 I can't even register what had happened.
 Trying to catch my breath,
 hyperventilating in disbelief and disappointment and disdain and disembodied.
My knees buckle to the floor.
I look back and see you with the stains and the tares.
The same breath, the same  pain,  the same look.