Standing in front of a crowd of a thousand,
My body convulses and my mind turns blank.
Trying to forget how my soul has been damned,
How I've been demoted to the lowest rank.
My mouth trys to utter an apology,
While all the piercing eyes shout their disbelief.
They make feel I deserve this agony.
Regret settles in. There will be no relief.
Shaking fists, mutterance of "crucify her,"
Vagueness, terror, suffering, embarrassment.
My mother, how could I defy her?
My father, why all the harassment?
That's what it all comes down to: social status.
How could this offspring of theirs be so horrid,
How could this young daughter have so much malice?
Sweat bands feel as if they're piercing my forehead.
I'm damn sick of being a people pleaser.
Its not something in my bones, body, or belief.
I love to be free, to be a men teaser,
To be myself is an ever sweet relief.
Now I stand for all th fucking crowd to see.
Not bodly, not energetic, but naked,
See my imperfections, my indecency.
See my temper, the reason I am hated.
This is my stage to the whole fucking world.
I'm ready for all of your criticism.
This is my stage to the whole fucking world.
Try to settle down, contain your orgasm.
Really, this is my stage to you.
You'll never be up here with me.
I'll never long to be with you.
Understand, you can't change me.
I'm the opposite of a people pleaser.
-- I am lonely --
Stubborness will keep me forever up here.
Lack of interest will keep the crowd down there.
I'm not sure if I'm ever going to find someone that can make me overcome this... I wrote it in '04....
