I am frustrated,
Because every little thing,
Bothers me in some way,
I get frustrated,
When I cannot find a book,
By an author who is my favourite,
It troubles me,
When I cannot get words to rhyme,
And when things do not,
Work at the perfect time,
I worry a lot,
From making music,
To being communicative,
My hands pain,
From punching the walls,
My arms burns from,
Scratching with my claws,
The happiest day,
The day I am set free,
Is when frustration,
Will be the death of me.