It's a quarter century too late

To tell me to clean my room,

Or pick up the pieces

Of my scattered existence.

 

I'm walking off my own

Skinned knees, and

I've got the tweezers poised

Over the splinters

Of my own mistakes.

 

So number your opinions

On both hands.

They're not worth

What we both believe

They should be.

Keep counting...

Your thoughts are as

Unworthy of existence

As you believe I am.

 

I know love. I am truth.

I have confidence.

I exhibit open-minded intelligence.

Traits that you failed

To fully eradicate from my psyche.

 

State your case.

I escape the verdict.

Take your gavel with you,

For I am deaf to it's staccato beat.

I'll walk my own mile,

Regurgitating the last rites

You stuffed down my throat.

 

I'll continue to waste the world's space

With a conspiratorial grin

For the girl in the mirror,

Who became more than you bargained for.

 

So with a polite smile,

I must excuse myself.

Quit the embrace of your

Slow electric chair.

Because it is not mine.

I have a world to take on,

An angel to train,

And boo-boo's to kiss.

 

Integrity's not genetic.

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