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Everyday I smile,
As cheerful as can be.
The colors around are
Bright and sweet,
The faces kind and friendly.

Hahaha.
That's fake.
That's a lie.
If we read each other's minds,
We'd all have to die.

The faces at school are
Laughing,
Mocking,
Never, ever changing.
Hope is a ridiculous abstraction.

Bully,
No matter what you say,
No matter what you do,
There is nothing in the world that will
Make me respect you.

Leave me alone, classroom demon.
What have you to gain?
Let me be in peace.
Instead you must pick on me?
Tell me why's that, please.

Still, on my walk home,
Are busy people walking;
Sociable people talking,
They seem to have forgotten me
In those roles of faking and lying!


Why do I wait? Why do I do nothing?
No matter how hard I fight,
My life still stays the same.
With this dull and meaningless life,
I might as well put an end to it, right?

I am so alone.
They always told me of my pneuma,
This creative spirit,
Capable of conquering nations or liberating the unjustly incarcerated
Unearthing fabled, folkloric myths,
With all the pummels I’d expect a brain cyst—
Still, he trudges on,
Like a scapegoat in its farcical, ineffable glee—
Why are you telling me
To manufacture and market my life
Like an indulgent, indulged on swine
Conforming to the convention,
Supporting units of straight edges

What in this straight-edged maelstrom
Can help the creative pneuma
To thrive in a place so confining and restricting
And detrimental to discoveries, breakthroughs,
Spiritual sustenance?

— The End —