If only I

I’m like, seriously, whatever. No fucking boyfriend, no friends at all for that matter and just my ass for company... Not that I don’t enjoy my own company, but, long term, it might be boring... Who are we?
Reading crap and trying to make sense of it while the hormones are driving us mad, leading us to find some screwable fellows to make us feel good about ourselves.
I’m denied my very choice of where I wanna live, and I still insist and write in the language that is so strange to me but that makes more sense. Who decided what we could do with earth, and own it. Who gave them the power to decide for the planet; that some piece of land belongs to them, that they can spoil it without consequences?
How unfair it all seems.
Why don’t they understand, why do I hate them? Positive attitude, looking down on mellow nostalgia. Of course, I’ve had my share, but who hasn’t, they say without looking deeper to see that there is no soul there. The soul is gone, crying in peace, where it can display its pain outside the surface of the “bright and happy” culture.
Bu then it left, leaving the body wandering and faking it not to be send where it doesn’t belong, where they put the others like it, where they fed with shiny pills that’ll make bright again and fit for the culture.
Not that I care, I’m just wondering.
But shhh, the world is turning again, and she has no place to go.