There are limits to the shits we can give.
Better we use them to fertilize the pastures of our souls
Than hurl them, with fury, at each other.
Bend towards light and follow the star,
Stretching and growing and reaching for far.
Turn petals and faces to reach the beyond,
Almost, yes almost, breaking earth’s bond.
And the dirt and the shit that covers your roots,
The worms and the beetles that ravage your fruit;
Find joy when you ponder amidst all your gloom
For their charitable gifts do power your bloom.
Come, come to the Misanthrope’s ball,
Misandrists, misogynists lining the walls.
Glaring and staring and flaring and raring
To air out their hate with odious swearing.
Yet the secret I know is they’re all in the hall,
For lonely abhorrence is no fun at all.