Sick of this life
Sick of the trials
Sick of the things that don’t make it worthwhile

Sick of the beatings and words that can hit
Sick of the men
who love other girls ****

Enough of the trying
To fit in at all
Enough of pretending I’m happy you call

You want my attention
But it’s just a farce
You really just want to be noticed by “****”

Which, incidentally, is a really **** way
To speak of the women
You *** to each day

In lieu of my island
With beaches and sand
I’ll wander away... by my own hand.