I have run out of shits to give to people who demand from me
That which they don’t stand for to enrich themselves.
Grasping cold straws to fill the void of cold life, they stand
For control over my body my life, my choice, which does
Not fill them with anything other than bitterness.
They turn old, they roll towards each other, unseeing, empty
Hand in ears, hands over eyes, they stamp the ground
With military precision, stabling freedom and bringing them
Nothing but consumable cold. Unseeing and foolish and lack
Of compassion, this crime that makes them weak
Stamp it out
Take away the right to be a freak
Stamp it out!
Destiny in my hands, they flick their fingers in my eyes, distracting
Pointing and waving, forcing my reaction
Lack of vision displayed in moving hands, Desperate for validation,
Knowing I have something to give, destroying it.