you talk to your friends
and snort your coke
and kill any chance you have
of going to college.
I head to my book club
and drink my black coffee
and pop a CD
into my boom box.
I've never been you,
never wanted to.
I've never gone to the parties,
never been invited.
and see, I'm glad that you hate me.
I'm glad that you can't stand the sight of me
and my poetry
and my eyeliner
and my attitude towards you.
it's funny how you don't care,
yet I'm the target,
impenetrable in nature
and chewed through
the ropes of conformity.
-
Author:
⋆♱𝓱𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓱♱⋆ (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 13th, 2025 15:30
- Comment from author about the poem: Who is the greatest chicken killer in Shakespeare? ... 'Tis Macbeth, as he did the murder most fowl!
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
A poem of not fitting with this person or group. Very nice. Good joke
Thank you lol
🤣 Murder most fowl indeed! LOL! Wonderful poem, hanleigh! Yeah, it is rather funny how "uncaring" people seem to care enough to target us, huh? I get this. Well done. A fave!
Thanks!
You are most welcome.
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