My Blanket

Some say melancholic... some say grumpy.

I will keep myself warm,
I need no sunshine,
In my blanket of hatred
I am most comfortable.

The world outside;
It disgusts me,
Saddens me,
Repels me.
What have we become?
I say we, I mean humanity.
This is not what I want,
Not how it should be.
But nobody thinks like me.

Keep yourself to yourself,
I do not want your flesh,
Nor do I want to see it,
Stop with the desperation for acceptance.
Monogamy is the way forward
Yet out of the window it goes.
Put down that camera,
The mirror is not a friend,
Bring this unnecessary vanity to an end.

The feud within me,
The yin battling the yang,
One side says:
“I hate and will make it known”
The other states:
“I couldn’t care less and will not stoop”
If I were alone or had likeminded companions,
Then I may be happy
In my own misery.

I do not condone a lot of things,
(Though I, myself, am nothing)
The surgery that is purely cosmetic,
For medical purposes is fine,
Otherwise, live with what you have
Or accept what you do not.
Nobody is perfect,
Especially those pasted all over glossy pages,
The source of many of my disgusted rages.

Let me be what I am;
I require no modification,
I seek no attention,
I do not even mention
My views to those
Not inclined to know.
Since you love your labels,
I had my stereotype underlined,
The term ‘misanthrope’ being the closest that I could find.

Of course there are glimmers,
Little glitter specks that please me
(Few as there are)
Though not always golden.
Like dogs and cats and reptiles
And those that fall before the tortured bull.
A terrible person I may be,
But I cannot change myself,
I will always be the rotten fruit on the shelf.

You solve your squabbles with conflict,
Wisdom once claimed truth:
“War does not determine who is right,
Only who is left.”
So leave behind your guns, your tanks,
Your machines and your wrath.
Death is a part of nature, I know,
But the grass, the trees, the flowers and even the mud,
Need not be corrupted by the spatters of human blood.

Am I misunderstood?
Am I a monster?
Does it matter?
Do I matter?
I might like to be oblivious
To all the wrongs of the world,
But I am not and will never be.
I doubt humanity will ever change,
And so I shall continue to seem strange.

I will keep myself warm,
I need no sunshine,
In my blanket of hatred
I am most comfortable.
Until the moths take it away.

The End

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