She's too tall.
He's too short.
That's not a human, its a hippo.
Is that a stick I see walking?
Oh, how the criticism runs deep
With every word it speaks,
These poor souls become weak
With nothing to hold on to,
Not even reality
It acts so strong and superior
Claiming that we’re all inferior
But with what experience does it speak with?
After all, it is nothing more than our creation.
Society,
I ask you
Who do you claim to be?
You are not in charge of me
Nor, of any other being which you seek
All that you are,
Is cruel beyond words
For what have these children done
To be stabbed with your words
Society,
I tell you
To be gone, for you do not belong here
Or rather, you have lost your right to
You have broken our trust, in all that we care for
So why then?
Do u act so mighty, as if you hold power over us
You are merely the result of doubt
The doubt that lives within us
The doubt of being,
Ugly, weird
Abnormal, mean
And everything that falls in between.
*Or
Maybe its just the doubt,
That this is all right,
That this
IS
Reality