Came here looking for profound inspiration I’m a liar, no, it’s really adoration Why the fuck do I crave acclamation? Call me parking ‘cause I need validation Applause sign, applause sign Am I important now? Applause sign, applause sign How ‘bout now? - thank you - thank you so much! Thank you! Am I important now, am I? Am I important now? Wow, what a great crowd! Give it up for yourselves, c’mon! Mind-bungling, how I’ve come to believe that this self-hatred is functioning as humbling to keep me from getting a big head like a lead balloon lead you down a dead end, stumbling on a pin thread, a quick bread after a bit of muffining, a swollen loathing stomaching, the Socratic method buffering, why? Wait…I’m covering my face. The music isn’t safe. The rest is mask-ematics. Ask an addict if the process is a mess of questions tumbling, the answer’s always “yes” yet another chance to weigh in the way the cookie’s crumbling. It’s puzzling, I’m struggling, here summoning the sum of something troubling, bubbling like a cauldron in a witch’s convening, if we don’t drown, then we burn in flames - the stakes are still the same - well done for the day. The fun came out to play when I learned to love the pain. Look into a window - a still glow reframed, The word “sorry”s what I say ‘cause my existence is disclaimed. Am I important now? Am I? Am I important now? Watch me tear myself to pieces like I’ve always been gamed, or maybe hunters want to prey, to be blunter, I would say I’ve internalized the patriarchy, limned my body up in shame, self-loafing at a pastry party, the baker is to blame, and later, I’ll be sane, I swear, I can maintain, just be patient when the doctor comes to label us insane - watch me smile and look pretty, be more bubbly than champagne, and did you know the name “champagne” is from the region where it came and screamed my name and tore the sheets and left a stain? We’re in-bedded, not big-headed, well, actually, and what exactly is the problem with getting a big head anyway, does it break the neck or just the chains? I’ll take the check to pay my shame with my mate and any change I find inside the train of thought that tunneled knots into my brain, like “ought not to have done that - be a lady, not a ‘they’” who taught me to hate myself so insatiably this way? Survival is a strategy that starves us of our place. Mass illusion, to hide a tiny piece inside, the way Rasputin microdosed with cyanide, to dye the ego different shades, blend into the waning waves goodbye and by, somehow we lost it when we found the founder saw fit to drop in, exhausted, that’s why we became toxic in this way, but nothing is more feminine than masculinity ingrained. Watch, my head is getting bigger and there’s nothing you can do about it. I was supposed to be famous and dead by now but instead I’m a fucking mess, ok?! Who taught us to hate ourselves so insatiably this way? Am I important now? Am I? Am I important now?