There’s unfortunate trepidations
Amongst
Cowards that choose to
Cower by default
And cowards that choose to
Default
By tears
And only to catch attention
In complaints
And you somehow think control
Is compassion;
It’s unfortunate the path you’ve chosen; only to find yourself alone, hated, and starring as celebrity in your own show.
In this,
There is gruesome sentiment
To disproportionate
Expectations
Of what validates
Success
When succession
Has somehow through
Poison
Proven More
Long-term
Than perhaps the flight
Of weight
And height
In which you bombed in
Only to find yourself
Without friends
When most choose
To only nod
And endure privacy
Instead of reunion
In random public places;
And somehow you call me
The Weird Gal. (I don’t even know your name.)