Be Mad, Bitch

Everybody likes some applause…
and are you mad you don’t matter naturally because
nobody likes mastering the hover over a toilet seat squat move because there is no special paper and not enough tissue to protect you from things that could literally seep inside your body by getting onto the skin of your undercarriage so you learn to float basically like a witch would to stay clean.
Too bad nobody is special.
Yet we all die the same we do, each time.
Everybody likes to be admired…
and are you mad you’re only useful and not interesting because
nobody likes to walk around in 80-degree weather with a soaked tampon or pad between their legs, needing to pee and feeling stank and hot and tired and crampy and irritated and trying not to squirt out urine and blood in public on a sunny day and ruining everyone’s lives even though you’ll be fine as soon as you can go.
Too bad nobody is important.
Yet we all die the same we do, each time.
Everyone wants to feel flawless…
and are you mad you don’t matter because you’re not really a thing anymore
and your options are man, man who is dope enough to dress feminine, man who is dope enough to be feminine, female creature monster who is smart enough to know its better to be a man, and involuntary breeder freak weirdo that nobody wants to be. And if you are the last one, sorry, toots. Nice tits.
Too bad nothing has any significance.
Yet we all die the same we do, each time.
Everybody wants to feel seen…
and are you mad you don’t mean what you thought you did at all
and nobody wants to start bleeding as horrible as it is, once it has begun no-one who is experiencing the extreme torture really wants it to stop when it is time.
And without the ones that nobody wants to be
there would be no one else and eventually, no one left.
Everyone wants some value…
and are you mad you represent the past and not the future
Yet for now we all die the same we do, still, each time.



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