Pity Me Not

You see them fumbling for change,

There on the city bus, standing alone, feeling strange.

It is hard to adapt in the rain, with hammering foot shuns.

Infectious diseases stream a courage, creating obstacles to the coward who runs.

Color of bland, so as not to disrupt the darkest of egos in the ghetto.

Shed a tear in the crowd of silence as the passers go.

To bleed under scrutiny for a woman to concur.

The absence of thee who blessed of the memory of blur.

You get the old engraved desk, rather than the newly varnished.

Drowning in the shallows, as so many stare astonished.

No roof to cover your head in which you wither.

You walk a thousand miles to a mere sugar simmer.

Mental for people blush in their spheres, for shall they label.

Will you let this endure as it is just to enable?

Point, stare, throw, push, break, weak, meek, low, hurt, bleed, dead.

These you can withstand, you can devour it and care nonetheless, it drowns in your head.

But what shall bury you in your grave, and send you to paranoia, insanity,

Is the knowing of the reaction when you step off the drunkenness, and see the truth that all the world feeds on you, that you’re nothing but a pity.

One shovel to carry the last of the hard, sweet cotton.

Smite me no more, as I shall be forgotten.

~~ Janie Welsh ~~

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