You think this is quaint, a case of the blues
A handkerchief for a dainty cheek
But I want to howl, I want to shriek
I want to tear the world in two
As you safely stand
In your well-dressed land
Handing out ornate soliloquies
Like pennies
yet neglecting to understand
The poverty of agony
While my dark demeanor
is dismissed
I will burn buildings
If you insist
On painting glitter
over rage
On labeling my pain
a phase
An inconvenient rite, a blight
On your ladylike
well-mannered path
My wrists bleeding
As you correct my math
My words are not petty, not obscene
I am not a robot, not a machine
To defuse, deprogram or debug
Or merely lock away and shrug
In your placid belief
that compliance is peace
What is prison for
If not release?