To Whom It May Concern - TISM

I’d rather be a cack-eyed awkward knob than you

For all your perfect teeth and hand jobs

I’d rather be the silently resentful weird one

Than the back-slapped, chest-poking, young gun

For every moment you’ve had of adolescent bliss

I’ve spent ten regretting everything I’ve missed

For every stroke, every goal, every glance and kiss

There were blows, failure, mockery and less

Yet I’d rather be me, you preening dumb tool

You vacuous, confident, ignorant, poor, dumb tool

Who wants to be me? No one

You? They sell magazines with how-to guides

People shell out money, jog, get surgery

But mainly just dream of the day they will be more like you

Grass green, never greener, grows over the fence between us

Penis length I’m sure is in your favour

Your penis, in fact, is the hero of this and every other hour

And can access all orifice, stink box, blurter and growler

They didn’t break the mould when they made you, mate

That mould was mass produced

Does it grate, that on every corner and every bar, there’s you

You have never said one thing completely new

Not thought, one thought, not thought before

You Cleo mag, Channel, «as seen on TV» bore

You school kids' idea of bliss, you teen idol

Package, construct, robot, product, lackey, baggage

I would rather be me, despite my self-disappointment

I would rather be me, because of that disappointment

I would rather be me, unknown, weak, bent and poor

I would rather be me with every mistake and flaw

I would rather be me because in the whole universe of us

In the galaxies of people, in the glowing incalculable nimbus

You provide the great system with nought

Whilst from afar, burning, lonely and nearly invisible

I, a star