All of Them

All these people, they stare at me;

They aren’t my equal, but I’m no good:

I want to run far away, but cannot feel my legs;

And if there were a finch, I’d keep it if I could.

All these people, they make me insecure;

I cannot keep my mind on what I have to do

If everyone and everything hurts, and there’s no cure.

If only I had a single place; but one happy thing.

All these people don’t make any sense;

I’d rather talk to rust forming on a fence.

They prefer to lie about every little thing,

But that makes understanding hard to outward bring.

I wish that all these people would just give the shit a rest;

That way I’d find a way to love, and not life protest.