Facetious II

My words aren't supposititious,
You stupid pile,
You aren't my kindred,
You can't put me in fetters.

But who are you,
Only a cheap creation of my mind,
A meek servant,
A sundry trepidation.

I cause my own rheumatism,
But I halt,
Fearing their contemptuous gazes,
Hearing their stentorian voices.

I used to cause my own destitution,
Denied painfully of mirth,
Enumerated by the ones I love,
But I broke out.

I'm not a genteel woman,
I sit on the floor,
Playing with the worsted,
Along with the Lucky.

Drovers teach us,
They soliloquize,
Amongst themselves,
As if we don't understand perfectly.

And my palsied heart won't respond,
How do they repay me?
I'm broached, rotating slowly,
Calmly they debauch me.