I’m wearing this bad attitude well,
well at least I’d like to imagine I am,
forced nonchalance is real for now.

I want the world to go fuck itself,
fuck itself hard with its own piousness,
sanctimonious wiseacres the lot of you.

Feeling my burgeoning transformation,
wrapped in a dirty polythene sheet,
and chained to the ground by you.

Why do you all hate me for who I am,
and refuse to let me try to change?
I’m just a garden-variety boring shit.

I am craving a violent reinvention,
I pray for some form of validation,
one or the other or both or death.


2 thoughts on “Burgeoning

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