Dices Que Soy Imperfecta

Listen to the shrieks
The bellows and the cries
The people who are searching
Or the sounds of souls who’ve died
Can you taste the metal?
The cold, red-stained metal
Could you suffer through the name-calling?
“Disgusting, sick, fag, mental”
Have you felt the searing pain?
The fire erupting from within
As the razor becomes a paintbrush,
And for a canvas, they use skin
Words like “Retard, dyke, muff-munching fairy”
Left you with no sense of self worth?
You been kicked, spit, pissed on?
Pushed down in the cold dirt?
Yet through the hate, they shall rise
"Outcasts” will live out all their dreams
So put down that razor, those pills, lift your head and smile
If not for you, pretty please, for me?