They've been making passes at me since I was ten. Just think of it, I would have led the free and easy life of a baby prostitute. They tell me that I'm a dreamer. They say I've lost touch with reality. Maybe I have.
Reality is garbage and hate and violence, ignorance and prejudice.
No, I don't like your reality. I won't accept it. I'm an artist. I'm exempt from their rules. A poet doesn't worry.