Why should I listen to you
tell me what to do?
You don't know who I am
or the things that I've been through.
I'm on the outside looking in,
somewhere you've never been.
So who cares who I am,
or what it is I think or say,
what it is I write,
or why I act this way;
You have no standards anyway,
never understand a thing I say.
Your mediocrity at it's best.
So who even cares about the rest?
I'm disgusted by your weakness
tempered with your fragile meekness.
You're just another tragedy,
a messed up lie was your gift to me.
I never have perfected
the tolerance you've expected.
It's so simple but you just can't see,
that you'll never understand
someone like me;
So different from everything
that you believe,
I'm sick of the life you've given me.
All I want is to be free.
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Poetry: Oppression
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