why must i constantly be humbled?
need i press my forehead to the floor, my lord?
any pride or confidence has been slain before the altar
my lord, what else could i offer?

i have not much, and i am not much more
than a rag doll stuffed with a cotton soul
casually i will be sat at the table and forced
to watch you take your tea with six spoons of sugar

what a tremendous joke, what a divine comedy
to think the gods favor civility and peace
carried like a twig in a doves beak
angels singing through the dissonance of a deaf mans symphony

a dot within a dot within a dot
if there is much more to it, i've already forgot
i am a carbon copy, with atoms bonded sloppily
and i am not worth much, i am but a penny.

why must i constantly be humbled?
do i not already speak softly? every longing had only been whispered
(till now) i have never dared, nor intended, to disturb
a laughing remark for the placidity of my universe

kept hungry and at the door
a beaten pup and i am not much more
i am brushed off of every skirt
and still when every letters been returned

i still place the vowels with the consonants
into these cheap shoddy words
like rusty flowers in a transparent vase
trying to capture beauty in one place

so many lights chased
on the way home from the store
i am constantly humbled
and i am not much more