I’m an Octopus.
So many people believe that the perfect spirit animal for them is a tiger, or a snake, or some sort of extremely powerful and world known animal to match their courage or slyness or amazing strength, and I respect that, but today I have realised that my perfect animal would be a ******* Octopus.

I mean think about it, when scared or in danger, they disappear into their back ground, and when they’re in a tight spot, they can just slip out as fast as they slipped in. They’re also great multi-taskers, and I guess that having 8 limbs would be great in the situations I get into.

Yeah, if I ever needed to have a spirit animal to guide me, I hope to god it would be an Octopus

Readers Should be advised, swearing used in this very short poem.

Go ahead and **** my Life;
Up the ***, with a Knife.
Don't you worry, I'll be Okay;
The Memories Hurt More anyway.

I'm always tired, but that doesn't mean I'm lazy.
I act a lil' nuts, but that doesn't make me crazy.
I'm always in my room alone, but that doesn't mean I sleep.
I'm trying to be nice, but I don't want to talk to a creep.
Can't you go away? I just want peace.
The noise never ends, it just wont cease.
Don't be so rude, when I don't want to talk,
and when I check your profile, i'm not trying to stalk.
So leave me alone, and respect my rights,
because I only want to sleep tonight.

Blue can mean a lot to many people, for some it represents sadness or rain, others it means calmness like the ocean. My blue Represents the hottest fires imaginable. They fuel me.
Don't dull my blue with your petty idealism.
Your red strikes fear, rage and anger into the hearts of your enemies, but sometimes sparks into their eyes and souls; Romance. My red can change from the sweetness of strawberries, to the blood that pumps under my skin. My red keeps me alive.
I don't take the red from others. Neither should You.
Black can represent anything. Your soul, your mindset, your skin, your emotional state. It represents my burnt skin, after the blue has ripped away my colour, until the red has drained away. All thats left is my charcoal.
No one likes being all used up.

Lets write a poem and see how it goes,
without fluent grammar, and equally wrong prose.
I doesn't have to be practical, a report or a recite,
It should be fun, forwards, direct and right.
I couldn't care if the poems I write are bad,
They can be loony if I want, possibly mad.
Anyway, as you can tell, this was written on the spot,
But you do not care... Is it important? It's not.