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  Feb 2015 C H Watson
P for Poems
A boy with no parents bought up hated and alone,
wanted attention and was always on his own.
a Beast inside made the villagers afraid,
for this reason.. they all displayed,
an attitude of hate,
which they made bait.
lonely and behind,
was also kind.
Year's went passed,
time really went fast,
a team of 3,
he was happy.
He vowed one day,
he'd be the village hokage.
He Trained and trained,
felt drained and pained.
Still need to finish this xD
  Feb 2015 C H Watson
P for Poems
A dark past,
also my last.
of my family.
my beloved brother,
killed my father and mother.
my clan too,
and someone knew.
He only spared me,
and then he flea'd,
Leaving me,
without my family.
the love i had for him turned to hate,
I awoke my sharingan by the time i was 8.
my goal and objective was to **** him with my own hand,
then i could avenge my family and my clan.
we were close and we played,
By my side he always stayed.
I looked up to and wanted to be like him,
but my chances back then were looking quiet slim.
a prodigy indeed,
left my heart to bleed.
filled me with hate,
I just had to wait.
Lonely I use to be,
my beloved brother took my family from me.
I wondered why he murdered our clan,
I wondered if this was always his plan.
the brother i remember was always kind,
Or was i just simply blind.
one day when Im stronger,
when i can fight for even longer.
Ill be ready to **** he,
the one who killed our family.
If you guys watched the anime naruto you'd understand this
C H Watson Jan 2015
Rampaging tiger, once gentle girl, spare us our lives!
Reduce us not to blood-spray with your lethal knives!
                   Lop                           not
                 our                              red                            
­               and                               raw                necks
             with your  wicked       and         brutal
            claws and glinting        wry   fangs!
          You                   are           kindly
        and               not a              bad
     monster      with a                sly
and         voracious                   gut!
                   Have                        for
                   our                           wet                        tears
              some                             wee                      pity!
        This                                      we beg, O rakshasa!
  Please,                                          remain vegetarian!
This poem is shaped like the Japanese character for death (死 ****) and is dedicated to my pal ShiftingTiger on! She happens to have been afflicted by some sort of teenage lycanthropy, so we try to give her moral support and vegetarian encouragement whenever possible.
C H Watson Jan 2015
Look through the fence, you see that beast there?
  That tense lump of muscle and mange-ridden hair?
That's old Scrapyard Spike, and this is his lair;
  Don't tread in his yard on adventure nor dare.

Old Scrapyard Spike, he's been a-weathered for years;
  In his chain-link domain, rain-soaked despair.
Unfed in the morning, watered only with tears;
  Unsheltered from squalls, corroded by glare.

Now poor Scrapyard Spike wasn't always so old,
  When he was a puppy, they told him they loved him;
But when he grew up, he had to make friends with the cold,
  For with the clink of a fence, he was thrown out on a whim

So Spike spent his days alone with his chain;
  He sweltered at noon and slept wet with the rain;
And all those who passed him discounted his pain:
  "He's just an old cur" was the daily refrain

And then one cold day, a girl found her way in;
  Her flesh on her bones, blood coursing unspilled.
Old Spike smelled her first, his chain went a-slitherin'
  And the lost child stood rooted, her every nerve chilled.

The silence of metal, broken plastic and glass,
  The beast came a-running, his chain length a ploy;
And jaws opened wide as he lunged for the lass;
  But when his head pressed her thigh, he whimpered with joy.

Old Spike raised the call with a manticore's thunder;
  A summoning cast with his lungs' every strain.
She petted him gently, whose care she was under,
  Though his poor heart convulsed as he looked back at his chain.

The clangor succeeded, a blue-clad protector
  Saw the beast at her heel, and he drew as he lept;
An ounce of hot metal found Scrapyard Spike's skull,
  And the last thing he heard was his friend as she wept.
  Jan 2015 C H Watson
Alyssa Rose
You are not perfect, darling.
Far from it, actually.
Your aura is lined with jagged edges.

I know it.
You know it.
God knows it.

But that is what makes us so extraordinary.
Your jagged edges expertly fill my empty spaces.

No one is formulated quite like you.
Never has there been.
Never will there be.

You are you, made imperfectly just for me.

I know it.
You know it.
God knows it.
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