They sing of democrats and saving dolphins
And all the while I'm ripped apart,
In slow motions death reaches for me
And pours oceans of tears on my heart.
There's always controversy, and I can never choose,
I'll never take a side, I'll never be a native
Of anything. And everywhere life sings
Of the alien, who happened to be a girl.
I'm never good enough for anything,
I'm always 'almost', almost there...
One step away, not quite the one.
And once again the Center grips me.
The Earth's core is calling out for my heart.
It died almost three times now,
And always it's my own fault,
Unable to do anything about it.
Finally, it's an eternal bleeder.
It bleeds out of nowhere,
Soaking my soul in it's red disease.
There's no way to fix a thing,
Don't wase your time on me.
They say I'm good enough for praise,
But I am not the one who's praised.
I am unnoticed, I am invisible,
...And it's my own fault.
No, I am not the one who's loved,
I am the one who cries,
who wounds herself in hopes of nothing
who suffers pain inside and lies...
Lies to herself
Pretending she is simply crazy.
Lies to the world:
'That's only me, and nothing more'.
But that's not 'me' at all...
What's left of her
Shut itself tight
Inside the cubicle that is her soul.
Save Mother Earth. Protect the whales.
End wars, make peace,
Concern yourselves with things.
Don't pity my pathetic self too much,
And slowly but surely
Forget my poem and me.
By: Alisa Popova