I grew up in a tough neighborhood,
Seen and experienced every kind of
Street hell you can think of.
Its no secret I was a drug addict,
I beat that.
Its no secret my mother was shot dead
In front of me.
I beat that.
All who know me,
Well, you all may not like me after
I told you I was dead.
I beat that.
So for those who are fighting,
Those who are bullying,
I send an open invitation to bully me.
To hate me, to write bad stuff
About The Dedpoet.
Leave all those other guys alone.
I can be your punching bag.
Because I can take it,
Because after all,
If we met in the streets I would
Hug you with a haiku,
I'd lay kisses on your cheek
With a thousand sonnets from
Neruda.
I'd read you Octavio Paz
Until you realized you are not a poet.
Poets do not bully,
They understand, they are philosophical
Word artists whom write the human
Condition and deal with the chaos
Of this world with peers.
So bully, so whomever you are,
Attack me, someone who knows
What you really are.
I can take it,
Just leave the real poets be,
This is an open invitation.
Let the fun begin, if you have the
Metaphorical ***** for it.

You call yourself a friend?
Friends don't talk behind your back.
Friends aren't selfis.
And friends certainly don't bully each other.
And I'm sorry if our friendship has to end, but it was fun while it lasted.
I'll love you endlessly, but I have to take a stand and defend myself.
I'm tired of being your punchingbag.
I'm sick of you always pointing out my flaws.
I never talk about you, I never say anything mean,
so why do you feel the need to hurt me.
Everyday, it worsens and worsens, to the point where I want to cry every night I get home.
So I'm so sorry if things take a turn for the worse,
but you were suppose to be my friend.
I guess you were never a true friend.