Look on my friends, ye mighty, and despair.
Despair of might itself, stupid with self-love.
Let the mean girls whisper and bray behind their manicured hands;
Let the boys with the wilted asses and the John Wayne pouts
Play with each other in their loud, lonely corner.
Their games are not ours.
What say we let them fuck the hell off, while we conspire quietly together,
Never caring much what we will raise, only whom.
Yes, my dears, let us touch, but touch lightly.
If we must build, let us build bridges, sills, and doorways;
If we make, let us make invitations.
Come, let's scatter our seed where the weeds already flower.
Let us mend, make way, and step out of the light,
leaving only our selves undone.