Complaining is talent given to me from God,
I've concluded that it's my one true gift.
Is it possible that I'm just a poet?
Or will this talent soon drift?

I complain and I complain,
No wonder why I'm so misleading.
As I emulate the mind of a man of strength,
But I speak the words of my dysfunctional brain.

I'm complaining about complaining,
How Ironic this seems to be.
Short words with longer meaning,
I complain so much,
That I forget that I am free.

The way I have lived my life
Does not justify the way I feel

Yet I have these feelings anyways
They haunt my head there everyday
Leaving me with nothing much to say

Complaining is a messy game

Been raised to swallow hardships
Still, remembering my privilege
I am so well aware of it,-
I probably shouldn't feel so ****.

I've become numb to betrayal
Not because it happens often,
Rather my emotional conscience is drunk and dumb - now raw.
And no, I'm not ******* and moaning at all.

Not complaining
Or trying to be entertaining.
Self confidence never waning
Just vocalizing my recent contemplating.

However, you should stop breathing. (It's annoying.)
From this very world, you should be leaving. (So controlling.)
Smile on my face - I'm seething! (Not belonging.)
I refuse to be what you call a ("human being.")

Blinded by abstract ideologies
People and their contradicting philosophies
Troubled minds in strait-jackets: Psychology
But, I believe I deserve an apology!

Deserving as I may, refusal is inevitable
Resilience is my specialty! I am invincible.
Crowned King. (King Shout.) Simply incredible
With /my/ hands? Creativity is invent-able!

With whip-like wits comes a sharply silver tongue.
With my lyrical venom in your eyes, it'll hit you.
Don't fret, the sensation isn't long.
But you'll writhe in asphyxiation 'till your face turns blue
And your lungs burst.