So you’re working in straight white clothes, your lab coats so neat and starched, you are always on time, all the time, and there’s a smile, a humble one, on your face,
Just bordering on a self-satisfied smirk, every word you say comes out perfect,
Every word you try to say helpfully comes across as a little bit eager, a little bit happy, just the right amounts, but you- all of you- are part of that “clique”, that clique of success, where your lives are so smooth and fine, and everythings going your way- you make sure of that. Your world is your friends, you’re always cheerful-sometimes callously so, and you don’t see how much they hurt around you, you don’t see their hearts or their compassion- all you see is their outward and not what’s inside, all you see is the fairground elite,
All you see is that failing grade or the dirt stain on that shirt or the messy hair or the smelly socks,
All you straight edged white coated lab-bers,
All you all saw was the stain on the dress, the messy, curly, spilling hair, the smelly socks, the fat-ting stomach, the falling grades, and the eerie wordlessness, that complete lack of speech accompanied by a rather desperate frightened look in the eyes,
That look that you seemed to detest, that drew you in with your mockery,
You never looked any deeper, or you never felt any higher than your own damn fixation of what real should look like.
Look at me now. Look at you now.