Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
It's 3 Am and I'm Still Up writing Your paper Explaining why you Can't seem to stick, Your commas in the Right Places. It's 3 In the Morning and I am staring At Ollie's Baseball glove Green ink scrawled With poems Which he reads When the third innings Are dull When ***** become too trivial to Catch. It's 3 In the Morning and I Am sick and Tired of watching You make out With Every Girl You pick up At this Phoney School. It kills me. You have no idea How it Kills me.
0
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
Stradlater
It's 3 Am and I'm Still Up writing Your paper Explaining why you Can't seem to stick, Your commas in the Right Places. It's 3 In the Morning and I am staring At Ollie's Baseball glove Green ink scrawled With poems Which he reads When the third innings Are dull When ***** become too trivial to Catch. It's 3 In the Morning and I Am sick and Tired of watching You make out With Every Girl You pick up At this Phoney School. It kills me. You have no idea How it Kills me.
Holden, for all his flaws, had a good heart.
jedd-ong
Written by
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem