Why can’t I enjoy what you enjoy?

You drink

You tell stories

Revel in infantile games

Bathe in the splendour of those who are similar to yourself

To me it feels like an isolated death, never lonelier than when I am in the midst of a party

It does not matter that I know you’re full of shit and everybody does also

They can enjoy it, twist-turn it into fun and exclaim, “it’s only his way”

For me it is no excuse and when anybody picks up the karaoke’d-mic I want this volcanic world to erupt with all the inequality it purports to be about.

The waywards, they sing

and

the

derelict they fence

with themselves

I have attempted to listen

I have leapt the leap of disaster many a time

Why dress up then act offended when men hit on you?

“It’s not the right type of man,” their excuse.

But I’ve seen the face, the dude is crushed and the woman sips her free pina-colada…

The vagabonds, they howl

and

their

misery, it STORMS

competitions

I am constantly informed that I am an oddball, weird or the more thought about… a little off