Shoot me once
I’ll call the cops
Shoot me twice
and i’ll be injured
Shoot me three times
and I won’t be able to fight
Shoot me four times
and you are now labeled as ******
Shoot me five times
and I won’t be able to move
Shoot me six times
and my blood will stain your shirt
Shoot me seven times
and you will loose everything
Shoot me eight times
and the cops will arrest you
Shoot me nine times
and the cops will shoot you
Shoot me ten times
and you have taken the life of an innocent youth

Underneath your bed there was a monster
He stalked you until he was vanquished
Underneath your pillow there was a silver coin
small enough to fit comfortably in your hand

Underneath your locker there was an unknown space
a space where you kept love notes and gossip
Underneath your cap was a head of freshly cut hair
the professional kind you wear to important things

Underneath your uniform there was a soft soul
the kind that never wanted to **** but had to
Underneath her smile there was an expectant mother
To scared about you to tell you the truth

Underneath your ring was a will to fight
But a will to die was a whole other story
Underneath the wound there was no hope
But there was a recalling of all you had done

“love me”
                “hurt you?”
“stop”
                “go?”
“listen”
            “but I don’t care”
“leave me”
              “with pleasure”

I would rather believe in good lies
Than hard truths
I would rather believe in physical attraction
Than a good personality
I would rather believe in multiple terrible friends
Than one faithful one
That’s just the hard truth

This is not a poem about metaphors or similes
This is not poem about sad lives and failed relationships
This is not a poem about happy times and family
This is not a poem about analogies that has a million reasons
This is not a poem about love or hate
This is not a poem about your insecurities or mine
This is not a poem about faults or regrets
This is not a poem about symbolism and ryhme
This is not a poem about strength and confidence
This is not a poem about loving yourself or having peace
This is not a poem about war or death
This is not a poem about colors or textures
This is not a poem about the little details in life
This is not even a poem
This is writers block

You thought I was weak
Ha
You thought I couldn’t handle it
Ha
You thought if you were sweet you would get somewhere
Ha
You thought that you had me all figured out
Ha
You thought I was invisible
Ha
You thought that I could never get anywhere in life
Ha
You underestimate me