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