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I feel violated.

I know what you think of me and

I want to wash my hands of it.

Because I remember hate,

I remember prejudice, when I was a child,

I felt it.

This is not an anarchist rant,

nor some blindy optimistic hippy who doesn't see darkness,

although I wouldn't have written either off

if they had wanted to share a word.

I feel sad tonight,

because last night I had to watch my best friend

dry heave into the toilet while i

held her hair back and heard her crying about

nothing and everything for an hour.

So call the cops when you find a roomful of beers,

asshole, call the cops when frat boy assholes are

trying to get in my best friends pants when

she is telling them to leave.

Call the cops when our laptops are stolen,

call the cops when boys break our hearts,

call the cops when lives fall apart and have to be

mended by green.

green is beautiful.

i guess i understand it all,

i just hate the discrimination that goes with it,

that because i love a plant more than a liquid poison

that i am not cool enough to get into your club

or not smart enough to be loved

or not pretty enough with my glass,

my green blue white glass that carries,

my poison.

so its not clear and it smells in the fucking hallway.

i wasn't in my room when you came, asshole,

so don't tell me i was.

jesus christ, go get some friends, a good time,

and a life, your name is marky markam,

you faggot ratty ugly piece of shit get over yourself.