The Judge and the Jury

I plead guilty

to all charges of being me.

In cuffs,

people throwing stuff at me in anger.

...in judgment.

My head pointed to the floor,

my eyes in sharp despise.

The jury begging for the death penalty,

yet the judge, not answer.

In memory of everyone,

flashbacks.

Of peoples' judgments of me,

of the way I look,

the way I act,

the way I dress,

the way I am brought up.

My personality,

my anger,

my depression,

my thoughts,

my sexual orientation

Fuck them.

I look back at the audience,

"You don't need them," I tell myself.

.....But do I really?

The judge pounds his gavel to silence the audience.

They do not pause,

not a flinch.

The judge determines his sentence.

"Guilty, with a chance of a death penalty. But no parole." he says with a smile on his face.

Oh how I wish I could smack that smile right off.

The guards grab me,

drag me to my cold,

unwanted cell.

While people mock me in force.

Oh how I wonder,

if I'll ever.....be accepted.