Human Freak Show
I should be used to the cold stares,
My soul tears remembering grimacing bold glares,
If folks spared the looks, I’d remain grounded, but yet,
They’d rather rip and torture my last ounce of respect,
Pounce on my flesh; I’m lost, just a withering image,
Hearing constant snickering, whispering from a distance,
Can’t function if tension creates a will of vengeance,
Fulfilling my every thought; Living in my existence,
I’m NOT built to be different!
God’s an accomplished designer,
Off days reflect from my mirror as a constant reminder,
I never pondered the finer things; suffered the worse,
The filth eats on my skin, disgust, covered in dirt,
It gets rougher, at first, and then it turns into hate,
Then it’s burning sensations if only they could relate,
Then you learn it’s your fate, and no one’s fond of you,
I’d wish for a minor scrape, a broken arm or two,
Instead no harm was due. Not by option or leisure,
^ Those could all be fixed, over time: proper procedures,
For me, logic ain’t eager, so I’ve been dealt a plan,
To live in the spotlight, extensions of helping hands,
Defenseless, left to stand; No hope was summoned,
So I wept with those I had the, most in common,
With, broken promises, but those who garnered it,
I look upon with envy; Unfocused honor, this,
Life of mine, is grief and strife combined,
Depressant drugs doesn’t condemn my violent mind,
I’m so psyched at times, but this display is costly,
Cuz I feel that these fools actually PAY to watch me,
It’s arguably, a feeling that haunts my patience,
Living a life, constantly accommodated,
To some it’s SO basic; in ways that I panic,
You brush it off, another day of taking advantage,
Nothing’s sacred or candid; full of fortunate hobbies,
While I walk around in a disproportionate body
.
.
.
I hate being a midget.
Fuck the World
Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.
Amy Lowell
-Nique.
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