by Nick Gisburne
My family is far too cold to care
Considering me bothersome from birth
If I was Heaven’s greatest hope, I swear
They’d burn me on the cinders of the Earth
I weary of the ridicule, the scorn
The urge to see me suffer, see me die
Dismissive since the moment I was born
I am the dirt, the defect, they deny
To give them freedom, I am locked away
Not one of them is penitent or sad
I know that I should go, but still I stay
Too fearful of the thought I might be mad
If I could leave this bitterness behind
Imagine it, the future I could find
