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Becca Calvillo Oct 2010
your protagonistic role
in my life
hinders my ability to
live.

your constant state
of self loathing
dampens my chances at.
optimism.

and yet,

your charming appreciation
for  my ethics
impassions me to
strive
and
yield.
I don't know what to call this.
the upshot constituted a figurative straw
     that broke the virtual camels back
where yours truly fingered as scape goat,
     who meekly, passively, and subserviently
     felt the stinging crack
of wooden, smooth,
     and oblong paddle and stands pat,

     asper innocence, though now
     (myself more than two score years
     orbitz around sun) remains more defiant
     for purportedly causing Roberta -

not her real name flack
and clears that blot (now a composite
     of petrified spitballs) as a hack
writer of poetry, feels jilted like Jack

donning many major protagonistic ruffian knack
nursery rhyme roles, which fables never didst lack
for upstart precocious, kickstarters impish grin,
     as if he just wolfed down a swiped Bic Mac

and goose that laid more than one golden egg
McMuffin running from the Giant,
     with spindle shank for each leg,
and sliding down the beanstalk, which didst peg
world wide web Marathon record
     suddenly the envy of Queequeg,

which way word ness
     far off course from the theme of this work,
hence hold tight
     to hazmat bag of **** pin jay dreck,
     while poetic license allows me to twerk

intended story aye (captain...
     oh captain) moost not shirk,
lemme reel yar attention
     back to the classroom of missus Labosh,

     hood didst whistle and perk
unbeknownst to me, my scrawny derriere
     unaware what quaint, hence danger didst lurk
for letting passivity
     find me singled out as the bona fide ****

wishing Moby **** could swallow
     hook, line and sinker
     with a slight even Steven crane
of his neck, every mother plucking bird brain classmate
     deemed Scott free, and Chutzpah didst gain

while this smart *** wannabe took a crash course,
     sans weltanschauung "Artful Dodging
     Spitball Shooting Maven" in the main
quite heavy on Physics and Trigonometry as became plane.
Lucas Grant Oct 28
To he honest I'm pretty ******* tired of being on my own
Im not really
But still my lack of love makes me angry
Yet I'm Y
               oU
                    N
                        g
That's what everyone else says anyway
Still I'm crazy and no longer problematic
Happy but never enough to prevent sadness
Out to most but still hiding from the majority
Avoiding the conflict I once used to untimely cause and angry at my protagonistic temperament
Raising it's head once in a foreign land
But it didn't last long because previous pain is still there
The oppositions have since dropped from the ceiling to an unknown cause but my webs are still in position camping out in the corner
a silk prospector expressing only malevolent intent
Never really meaning and now that im controlling the pain it's hard to admit, but there's part of me that still reigns in the areas of that room
Skulking through the tears usually my own labelled jester for those on that egotistical throne
So maybe my confidence flickering and unnerving, split between the characters I get to play between the seasons is one of the significant catalysts and thousands of reasons that I'm now on my own
everyone an opposition on my radar
the choice,
to be a villain for the people of my past or be trampled over by those in my present, an insight into my future.
That's if I make it because my obvious disdain is a recognizable trait like my unbearing love and attraction for Unrequited beauty and my I'll advised impulse to avoid the problem
                     make a list of all my excuses
           And Run to the next person most likely to become my biggest predator when I unfurl infront my secrets and ambitions secret Acts of betrayal while on independent side missions
    Diagnosed as ****** and unmedicated
              Mad when alone
    Discontent with my social standing
  And just wanting someone special to.                         bring home
Would like to release a short collection of poetry like an artist would release an EP to give people a taste of their music but I'm scared of what people say as I love writing but sometimes I feel that I'm searching for validation and I know i shouldn't but I just want to let people hear my words and enjoy/relate to my poetry

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