You don’t know what it’s like,
I’m a grievance to my folk,
an anathema in my job,
a worthless piece of shit
even I’ve no use for.
Let me die.

What? You can’t know that.
Look at you, peace in your face.
How could you know I feel that,
did that, think like that?

You can’t know what it’s like,
can’t conceive my pain, my shame
for I never whispered of it.
You did that too? You felt this way?
You can’t know what it’s like.
But you do.