I write what I want to feel.
What I hear in dreams, in the corners of my mind where society says I shouldn't look.
They call it vulgar - but it's just truth.
Love I can't reach. Trust I can't hold.
Me.
But that's vulgar isn't it? 
You know what is? 
A man treated as a dog as he lays in the same streets he does everyday. 
A woman concealing herself because everyone finds her as the center of attraction. 
A child, a young child with no home to go to, she does, but she shares this home of hers with other children with no real home. She is made fun of in the playground. "Nonsense, " the other parents grumble, yet, why do they not make a change?
That teenager who gets bullied, too much, yet, he still lives. He still waits for that moment. The one everyone does. Even the child. Even the man. Even the woman. But yet what's more vulgar? The thoughts in my head. What an odd thing to say, the truth. 
I rest my case, your honour.