My Feelings on Me
Most poems are great.
Written by great men.
This wasn't.
This was written by a freak,
a ********.
I want them all to disappear.
All of them.
The disfunctional family.
The ******** assholes and friends alike.
But especially a certain person.
Because I'm not a saint!
I'm not a martyr! Not a king!
I'm just a kid! A ******** moron!
Emo! Angry!
I'd rather starve myself!
I'd rather slit my wrist and die!
No, better: I'd rather not have been born.
....
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