Walking around Wal-Mart,
They care not for their looks,
It's rather humourous,
From messy, raggled hair,
To very thin underwear,
These people do not care,
But I do observe,
Them in judgmental sight,
A pity they do be,
It often seems unreal,
That oblivion is,
Their life's hollow capsul,
They should reconsider,
For they make me bitter,
Freely my hatred does seethe,
When lookin' at their disgust,
My fiery volcano does,
Does indeed almost bust,
They say I am cold heart'd,
That I judge far to much,
But they make it so easy,
So I judge them month to month.

This poem is about: 
My community


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