Ayee mudda fuka
da uda dae i hada severe itchin in my inna elbow
i went to da doctor an he be like
who da ***, **** my office u lil ****
an i be like
***** u best nawt be telling me da flippidy flop on da who dat paddywhack crackerjack i **** u i **** u
theeeeeeen this ******* *** ***** wantsa charge me $40
an I'm all liek
***** i got 7 kidz 2 f e e d
an he liek
idc pay up u lil ***** b 4 i pop dis **** out
¿Tu madre¿
911 illuminati✈

SO you decided to read my rant.
So why am I writing a rant?
Because I'm an angsty teenager, but my life is good so I'll write a semi-anonymous poem and maybe if someone reads it I'll think I matter or that I'm not that alone.
The funny thing is, I rarely read the poetry of others, but I expect others to read mine.
I have an entire book that few will read and yet I expect to get somewhere in life.
But I have food and good grades and loving friends and a girlfriend, so my life is good.
My life is good, but good leaves no room for the future.
I am afraid that I can't go on like this and one day it will all crash down on me.  
I don't want to be a drama queen, but I don't want to hole myself up.
I feel these extremes and try to even them out.
I don't want to be like my mother.
My mother is in my ear complaining about all that I do and though I'm afraid that those I love will leave me, I'm afraid she never will.
She's moving with me to the state in which the college that she so optimistically says will accept me is situated.
I'm afraid I'll never have a healthy relationship or know how to function.
I'm afraid of having no family, but I don't know how a good family works.
She is so much of me I don't know which of our feelings I feel.
I don't know what of me is real.
I try to stay down to earth but she sends me reeling and yet brings me down to where I belong.
I'm an all or nothing girl, but that's a bad habit I learned from my mother who screams for milk at mild spice and cries hysterically over people she claims to hate.
I try to be my own person, but as an only child, my companion has always been my own mind which means I became too much of the world around me, and thus not enough of an original person.
I feel that even the one thing I've always been praised for (my writing, and thus my mind,) has only been praised to fill the awkward silences after an unimportant person tries too hard.
I debated about not writing this because I was afraid that I write too often and that it amounts to too little.  
I always use that adjective about myself: "too."  I've said before though that in my case it should be said as "tew" as in "too much of that which is ew" and then I think of all that I am not, but rather, "nawt" (not enough of that which makes people say "aw")
I'm an all or nothing girl but I try to live in the middle grounds.  
I like something or I don't but I don't obsess.
I know where I want to be in life and will fight tooth and nail to get there, but I fear I may end my life if I am unable.
The funny thing is I don't seek fame, or riches, I just want something that wouldn't be so **** out of reach if I wasn't who I am.
I just want to get my phd in veterinary medicine and marry a wonderful girl and live without too many bills piling up.
But I still have trouble spelling veterinary even though I'm almost a straight A student but almost straight A isn't good enough to pay for my education.
Because I'm too white, not quite poor enough, not quite skilled enough, not noticeable enough.  
I'm just close enough to the norm that people expect I fit in somewhere so they leave me all behind, leaving me with nowhere to fit in.
They all think someone else will help me until no one does.
So I search for the people whom I can make feel special and I throw myself at them praying to feel like I belong, but it never quite feels real.
I want to crack into people and find whats real about them, show them all of my all too real flaws, but inside their shells are likable things, and I am like tamarind: too sweet, in need of salt and spice, and strange to harvest for flesh.  I could be useful, but there's always something not quite right.
I know everything I do is not quite right and sooner or later someone will pull the plug.  
And leave me.
And I'll be left alone, writing or reading or crying or sleeping.
I wanted to record my voice saying this, but I knew that people would be even less likely to notice my words then.  
I'm not the person whose writing wins awards, I'm not the plucky student whose hard work earns scholarships.
I fall between the cracks because I'm too good to deserve pity and not good enough to deserve praise.
I tried to draw to spare you all from this stupid rant but though I liked the shape of a few lines, they meant nothing.
Maybe that's my problem, that I seek meaning in everything.
That I can't make anything of meaning.
I don't know why anyone bothers with me.
I feel like they're lying to me.
I'm nobody.
I'm an all or nothing girl, but I'm either too much or not enough and that means I'm in between.
I am the or in either or, in yes or no, in succeed or fail.  
I would be happy with that if it meant that I could just get the few things I want in life, but even that is too much to ask for someone who's not eloquent enough, not charismatic enough, not good enough to get there.
I know this feeling won't stay, because I'll bounce back to the opposite extreme of loving life.
I'm an all or nothing girl and even though I know in a lot of ways I have it all, right now, I'm feeling nothing.
And I'm afraid these feelings won't leave me.

S* is for Seduction, a vast verb saved for flesh,
But in her outer-worldly tune, my thoughts become enmeshed;
Like at the great Salamis, where strength sought strike the feeble,
Seduction marked our birth, their fall—an end without a sequel.

L heralds in some fifty lads, of whom mere five would pass,
Bugsy, Daphne, Sylvester, and Tazzy, above their peers compassed.
The tests were long, the trials were tough, from nothing we had fostered
A team of lucky, noble lads to fight these migrant monstærs.

A is the assault, outnumbered and outclassed,
Our heroes boldly braved their foes until their stalwart last.
Despite their lead by tyrants, such Nawt of Hispaniola,
Our foes were forced unto retreat, costing us Lady Lola.

M is for the ones who’ve fallen, for them mourn reminiscence,
For those who proudly placed their names for our petty subsistence.
The fight is done, the beasts beat back, denied all loot and hoarding,
And so a statue is *****: Honorum Mikael Iordan!

Dem white egrets
sure are skittish,
dey fly wildly
away.
But nawt
dem blue herons,
dey gawt bigger *****,
stay fisin' right dare
along da shoreline.
You should hear
dem gulls
laughin' at
all of dem,
and dat risin' sun.

So November's Come,
Hazy leaves deck the trees;
Rotten ****** wrecked the sprecht,
gotta please, gotta tease.
Cotton crusted smile
took the style while spine dumb;
Freeze as whacks churn
spurned, danced to the crime hum.
Early squeeze amidst blitzed spritz, dark romancing,
prancing picket line fum-
bled; Ambled twixt crowds antsing.
Glazed, took prior avenue
espoused culture tazed/
Fazed, ascends erased hub,
Dire mazed/Liar snubbed;
Nah crowd sourced: after-shock stancing/
Corp core flexed waves/paves vexed glancing,
Dropped four, floor to score, music cull en(c)hancing.
Enchantingly out of touch; Butchered lemming dancing.

Rupturous rapturing gospel takes all:
Sports neck line with wreck wine drenched via stall,
Appalling, talling tower looms abroad
Broad took shin dig as grin, fling; swig accord.
Objectified Subject, with verb kept in tow
flits through the fine lines, and cracks in the snow.

Noticed grave shadows, slow; ravens attest
a'Gig'a'Sibling invested in scoping, and chest;
Blooming bioluminescence scatters down/
Frothy broth fairly broiled. Scorn fawning Noun/
Habit forming, tarnished, ab(d)jectified malt-core
Verby? Nun-thank-you-muchly, Mary Mag-dolla store.

.... So November's Come,
Clubbed, stepped and altared.
Brushed away the dark hype
crowd mic check faltered.
Dastardly respite. Psyche.
Planted positively preened
nature:societal fiend
crept crudely, rudely James Deaned.
Pants 'cocked, stewed, steamed',
Megalithic mount gleaned
as posture postulates
cost you fate, spate-spoke-stake, ****-rate
vibrate denatured, protein plucked feud
fueled larger sense of afterlife tense imbued.
Spotted shortly crossèd portly,
tautly tossed courtly cost,
'nawt'ly flossed' possed thoughtly;
Sportly Mossed Kate washed
scene brimmed/beamed/loved
'Leaned' fussed. Trussed team musk/
Stock puppet power-aid, raid's pretty husk.
****** sidekicks show side slicks, stuck chiming bitty.
Flickering afterdark lark glistens, gritty-city-fitty.
Bought distorted Faster Mark, Narc acrossed shark,
passed past the Rasta Park, embarked'n'stashed arc.

Dark the dreams that crept to the fallen gate/
dazzled gems and hellish rhinestones irk fate.
Grated joy, plated coyly, then doff broke;      
spoke symphony of fattened tire/wire frame joke;
Took twisted lyre, choir, to tame my europa,
maybz next time a better luck'n'fly my eloper,
clucky chickens plucked/fussed/cussed, a fitting trend,
Spare parts missing neural heart; a plasticated end.

Long has passed since through fate we came to meet
Beneath the heavens, the stars, and the planets.
And now soon the ends of our times does fleet
Requiem wherein our couplings unbalanced.
Piercing blade that tore my features apart
darts pin ***** marks across my memories
whilst storing shadows of our shared accost
of ancient games, loving acts, treasuries
revealed, yet not taken wholly true
for whomst amongst us claims omnipotence?
Impotently I strain to stay anew
with you, and disregard the consequence.
Alas, nawt we gain in our steadfast embrace
Yet still I yearn to steady your stoic case.

san san sa-ant
I sant say say
an a hey hey
not a way
nawt a way
iss all gray garay
san san sa-ant
nos nos not sayn
nos nos not sayn
san san sa-ant
nos nos not sayn
an a heyin an a
heyin whar whar
whar whar an a heyn
whar whar  ya
whar whar ya  bin