Most days I yearn for the feeling of being another person.

To walk how they walk, to talk with their tongue.

How they feel deep inside when other people hurt them.

How their heart beats, like a bango or drum.

But I wake up everyday and I'm only me,

With the knots in my head that I once thought to comb..

My dreary eyes, and darkish skin.

My feet that always carry me home.

I would fear for myself if my thoughts controlled my limbs, but I'm too smart for advantage

I would rescue the rest of my kin, if they weren't so damaged.

but how could they e angry, when they also know that sin

I'm not a perfect girl, I'd rather scrub away my skin.