Should I apologize?
I have come in late,
and have an intense taste,
i can't help throw up at
your desk,
i am not a pest,
trust me!
And thanks for doing so,
that helps.
I will apologize though,
as i know i should,
come on now, let's go out,
and let's get some food,
oh and on the way,
i rushed in and kicked the root,
tore it apart,
and threw it into the wall,
and on a ride once,
i didn't know where to go,
so i spat on the horse,
i was a child back then,
must I've apologized?
Perhaps indeed, i did.
A happy day that was,
and the happy day ends.
I must go out again,
to go and play,
to go out and swat it out,
and catch it through the lob,
i am 14 now,
and i love my mother,
i can smile now,
and make no mistakes,
cause i am no longer a child,
yet as then,
i do these things
that i can't help,
i might shout you in the face,
and mock and insult you in shame,
"like a loud tard
disgusted by your race"
they'd say,
and I'd beg again,
and lay my hands,
and swear again,
i can't help,
as no longer my mother wept,
and from that house,
thus i was swept away.
I arrived on time,
shared my meal,
that ugly rice,
and i am still growing,
but what'd they say?
Unaware and disgusted by me,
a hateful prick, I must be;
i could paint pictures maybe,
of this naked grass,
or of the people around me,
and wonder at night,
and imagine that tree,
"oh! how beautiful is she?"
play some songs maybe,
I'd realized, i can't help but write,
as i march off on the streets,
the soul lays out a shout,
"let me be!!"
and it hopes,
if it'd ever be free,
maybe,
but there it stays,
that stupid little mouth.
As to the majesty,
my words do more harm
than the goodwill of thy lard,
that's what it is now,
as i shout and bark like a dog.
I can't help it,
my words fumble,
and now more than ever
does my throat stumble,
Should I apologize?
I am here,
and i am late,
as i was at my birth-date,
a part of this monotonous race,
and with great anger,
me and you, us two,
we'd wanna fight,
not to prove a thing right,
or to get off of each other's sight,
but purely for the sake of it,
all this hate-filled within
my bursting capillaries that
this miserable fate has gifted me,
I'd wanna let that out and burst them open,
and fight till my last breath then,
cause i never have.
I need some-things,
but i don't need a thing at all,
my brain does not,
yet my heart at times
does fall,
every once in a while,
for the same trick in bag,
truly i don't got a single word
to share, or to talk,
and spread out this rack,
so I simply type,
as i let my pen write,
and how misfortunate,
now is it,
that this ink communicates.
If I write,
can i make you feel the same?
must i hide and contemplate?
I am afraid a little,
but do you relate?
As for I, i write,
and to you, i give,
and thus, i must live,
but i may fall off the stairs....
"I cannot walk up the stairs,
i don't have a leg,
Should i apologize?".