Immature

Childishness is a virtue 

That you are too filthy to hold.

Should you mourn this good morning? 

Shut-in,

             They said, “Privacy, it’s logical,”

But all you could see was irritation. What is rationality if 

You can never put it to use? 

Worthless, worthless, useless                 Body

Brain that never made itself known.

‘It’s disgusting, the way’ The way you mince your words, stuttering

How you must feel attacked, how 

It’s always about you, how

Sensitive you are, 

Even where sensitivity has long been sanded into acceptance.

Revolting eyes water, but are they not yours?

Feel angry, yes, feel more and more until one day your rage shall consume you,

You will sew that mouth of yours shut, die, 

So you cannot 

Feel hatred— exasperation when you (or ‘you’?) Cry.