But it’s these sore losers I’m not ready for. These poisonous points of view I can’t align with. I get quiet and turn rotten in their sour aura. Sick and waiting to be blessed with someone better but the bus is late.
I hate public transit, it makes me think less of everyone and the sidewalks and the streets are just fucking littered with our bad behaviour, our uncompassion,
our irresponsibility.
My hope and hatred are pulled so tight
Between towers of admiration and fright
I’ll eagerly leave one for the other
I’ll eagerly leave late
Here or there, smooth or rugged, rain or shine, for better or worse I’ll arrive. I could weigh the options outside or dance on stage but anyway I’ll be poised to project.