He's different, they say.
I hear the words ringing through
Their fangs dripping with blood-
Queer, fag, fruit.
They think they have me
Figured out.
What they don't know
Won't really hurt them, Right?
Ignorance is bliss, or so they're told.
They don't know what's happened
They don't know my pain
Who are they to judge?
They've been told all their lives
Not to judge others, lest they
Be judged themselves
"Do as I say, not as I do."
What is Truly sacred to them?
Nothing, I believe is true.
They don't understand me
They have no need to try.
They are blissful being
Hypocritical. They don't need their rules.
But then, is not royalty above the law?
And who's to say they aren't?
Forever Judged, for the reality
That they believe in, be it false.
Why can't they see my Pain?
Why can't they experience it?
If for once they held themselves in
Lower esteem than their constant
Pedestal, could they understand
Me?
