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| I wrote this poem at P.E.P in the 8th grade (1995) during some downtime. There's some serious stuff in there mixed with absurdities. |
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My life's a mess. A pile of crap. More or less. Even in my early years. I had wounded, rusted ears. I worked a lot, All the day. From August first Till end of May. I'm not lazy, Only tired. Eat the bug Or I'll be fired. Rotisserie Gold, Covered with mold. Take it to Century 21 And they'll have it sold. Fifty cents Or a dollar. Got out my book And started to color. Fifteen hours, In my head. Fifteen hours, That's what I said. Pills for headaches, Cuts and burns. Broken wheel But yet still turns. Left alone, Left to die. In a toasted Cherry pie. Empty hands, Empty mind. Be so friendly, Be so kind. Help me up, And help me out I won't hurt you. Do not doubt. |
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