I often wonder who made me like this,
God or the public schools?
Was it haMelech haOlam
Or the principal and His rules?
Was I born to be unhappy? I wasn’t born to play this game.
Was I born to be a puppet? I was born to feel ashamed.
I ask myself these questions and I ask them of the sky
I ask, “Why must I live like this? What does it mean to die?”
I ask, “How come the others didn’t seem to suffer like I did?”
I ask, “Btzelem Elohim? Unless you’re still a lonely kid.”
I ask, “Why did you give me this body that I was born to hate?”
I ask, “How come I didn’t understand until it was too late?”
“Am I really made in your image if I wish I was someone else?”
“Am I really made in your image if they destroyed my sense of self?”
I ask the darkness questions, I ask, I plead, I pray
But the superintendent of the heavens simply turns and looks away.
The clay that I was made with didn’t fire properly
The clay that I was made with is wrong-and always will be.
Still, I have to wonder who it was who shaped me more
God in His omnipotence
Or brick walls and linoleum floors?