I’m not worth a grain of sand

Or a drop of time

I’m not worth the tears that trickle down your cheeks

As you get caught up in my rhyme

My hands are greedy and my eyes are wide

With all that I want and feel and see

But at the end of the day it’s all meaningless

Because I’m hopelessly free

The little pain in my heart reminds me

That I’m not worth my mirror’s gaze

The symphony in my head

Is better than its theater’s craze

I’m not worth the ground beneath my shoes

Because I’m mean, shrewd, and loud

I’m not worth the masks upon my wall

Because I always come out too proud

One day, I’ll live a million miles away

So I can cause no one further grief

Whether it be over my physique or mouth

Or unorthodox belief

I’ll live underground and get a gondola

Living off the rats and stew

But I could never, ever imagine

Living without you


People are inherently selfish creatures, as the Machiavellian principle goes. I once read about a man who suffered from both critically low self-esteem and a God complex, which I sometimes reference because it’s darkly humorous. After all, don’t most people feel worthless? Yet we still want, and we still hope and we still dream. That makes humankind either incredibly optimistic or hopelessly blind.