sitting in the corner,
slack-eyed and wondering,
always star-gazed and brilliant,
the child of me cowers,
shivers in the cold fear
of the world,
the day,
the breath of morning on my neck
and when i dare look up,
when I peak from my fingers
toward the monster-air around me,
the shakes of life convulse me,
tackle me dumb-founded,
slipping me some drug I can't name...
but the high of the ultimate low
is my thrill,
forever being below the plebian minds
thinking they know so much about me
and my life...
so when I stand up to shout,
to screech the defiance in me,
they are left with a feeling of wide-eyed
amazement...
"look at her,
all strong like she's a goddess,
who does she think SHE is?"
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