Alex Podolski
Oct 24, 2012      October 28, 2012

People like to bother me because I am short.
They don't realize that though my physique may be small,
I'm short when I'm angry.
There is no use for flowery, flowing phrases.
I say what I mean, or at least what I mean for the moment.
I hope to hurt you, but only for a second.
I don't realize words are stoves,
                                                          though you touch them briefly, they leave burns.
Don't burn me.

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment