I'm tired of reaching out to you people.
I've been watching you for so long.
I take the ones that fall along my path.
Lost in my warm cosy.
My greasy fringe, and crusty pony tail.
I'm afraid it's true; I do have a little bit of a moustache.
And I've long since lost my right of claim at the fair maiden name.
This rubbish dump holds many treasures, but as you say, it's all just junk.
My breasts now scrape my feet and chafe, as I push the cart.
You think I don't know that you mock my saggy bum and fat eyebrows?
Or the names you call me – only in the day, mind.
You'd never pass my dump at night, for fear I'd find you.
Don't see me now.
I've tried to understand how you stay happy without ever reaching purity,
Or effecting change in society,
Or growing so big that none can deny that you exist.
I've tried to feel what you feel.
I've tried to speak to you, dressed as one of you, and all I hear is cruelty.
Nothing as sincere as self loathing; you don't know yourselves that well.
You don't know what it means to reach.
To grope for something better.
You think… No, you're mind is too stupid for me to comprehend what concept you've grasped to explain your existence.