It's just one pointless quest after another,
and I still don't belong
to anyone.
And it's not like I want someone to tell me
that I'm beautiful:
I've seen my face enough,
reflected back to me in the impatience
on the faces of others.
Every gift I have been given
is gathering dust.
Because it doesn't matter what I memorize,
doesn't matter how much pain I've learned to withstand:
I have nothing to fight for.
If I could just have that--
just somebody who could put me to use--
that's what I'd die for
and live for.
How many swords have I collected by now?
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