A love story to call our own,
How we strive for independence,
But cry when we're alone,
From birth we're given this death sentence,
The way has been shown,
We break down without our maintenance,
Dare our cover be blown,
And we become the worlds acquaintance,
Followed to wherever we may roam,
The world demands obedience,
While building its broken home,
Billions in attendance,
Killing colonies, torching their honeycomb,
Creating bodies some call excellence,
Such as tits shaped just as dome,
False lines prove as evidence,
Holding stiff and firm even though she has grown,
Yet masks are held above intelligence,
Lips shine as if metal and chrome,
This world must seek repentance,
Or it has not yet grown,
Love could quite possibly be a nuisance,
And words never written in stone,
Can it be there never was a prince,
Who never sat upon a thrown,
Maybe this world is drenched in impotence,
Perhaps it needs to atone.

:Roberto Loera