There's a virus in this school called hatred,
It finds your happiness and takes it.
It writhes in your pocket,
Sounds much like gossip,
And leaves your heart bare and naked.

You dropped me
like loose change into
a homeless man's
Burger King
cup.

I would have preferred
to be thrown,
to be
smashed
into a hundred
thousand shards of
broken cardiac muscle
- because at least
that would mean you had
made an
effort.

I wanted you to
push me away with
all of your strength,
leaving me to trip
and fall
right out of
love with you.

But you merely
nudged me aside
- too weak to break the
chewing-gum strands
which stretched
between my lips
and yours.

I was
stuck and
I was
craving,
maybe out of habit
rather than desire.

Too short to reach
the emergency exit
I was left
wishing you had made me
feel a little
taller.
There were twelve inches
worth of difference
between us,
everything that you
were and I
was not.

But I guess I got it
wrong.

You are not
six feet
two inches
of man
You are
six feet
two inches
of cowardice  
and your
extra large
t-shirts correspond
to your
extra large
apathy.

Because you didn't
care.

You didn't care about
my five foot
inferiority complex
or the five feet
of reassurance
it would have taken
to make me
feel worth
something.

But I will not be
confined
to the gap between
your height
and mine.

I have the strength
to pull myself away
and snap
those chewing-gum
strands
I don't need you
to make the effort
I'll make it
myself.

And if you still feel
inclined
to drop me
like loose change,
that's a **** lucky
homeless man.

If I search my depths I cannot find
the reason why I hate you,
I know I've searched and I know I've tried
And I know I can't escape you,

It's been years and years it's been
And I know that things have changed
And I know that hatred is the source,
Of my unyielding pain,

But I can't let go of this feeling
When I see your face,
The blood in my heart begins to boil
And rush up to my face,

It hurts again and it hurts like then
And I feel some sort of hell,
And I feel those feelings come out like steam
And scream from deep in their cell-

"I want you gone or I want you dead-
Not in this life or any,
But inside of me your fingers remain
and have done damage aplenty."

I hope you hear these cries I make
For they cannot ever be spoken,
And I hope you know I mean no harm
But my peace can bear no token,

I am here and I am strong
And I am loud and I am Marshall,
But yet I break with ease,
I hope you know I'm trying my hardest
And please grant me some kind of peace.

"Are you Mormon?"
"Nope."
"Sweet."

Three months pass
Shadows growing longer
Head taller than the rest

Negging the perceived 
Bad and ignoring the good- 
Selective blindness.