I want to take off my body,
Like a used lingerie.
I don't want it anymore,
I feel too empty nor valuable.

I want to change who am I,
To begin anew.
For every damage that can't be undo,
For all those nights that I cried.

Too afraid to close my eyes,
Having angst that the memory of you will chase me.
I feel remorse for myself,
For letting you dig inside me,
For being too shabby for my self,
And for letting you ruin my life.

My life.
My life not yours.
From the time you had me,
You never once think of my life.
It was all about you, it was all about your desires.
It was all about your happiness, your thirst for mine.

Of what you did to me,
It will always haunt me.
The remains of you inside me,
Were a nightmare,
A nightmare that chases me,
A stranger who have no clue of who I am,
But still continue to plunge his desires on me.

I am writing this not just to seek for your sympathy,
I want you to understand.
How to be empty,
to be lost,
to be disgusted
and to be the topic of town,
and to be me.

-

shn 6:7-16

who did pötschke
and squander many an opportunity
to become a mensch
instead he became persona non grata
condemned to a history of misery,
not unlike Doctor Hyde and Mister Jekyll,
where friends, Romans countrymen did heckle.

After all said and done,
I best have stayed
safe and sound in the womb,
or hopefully at the least honored after death
with a squadron of B-52s
flying overhead with vroom
while being enshrined in a tomb,
cuz the living years of yours truly (me),
one after another trial and tribulation did loom
which figurative weave
courtesy weft and warp wove gloom
ordained I experienced hell on earth,
thus an inescapable doom
left no option except to skadaddle
into the outer limits of the twilight zone
at the edge of night
courtesy magic broom.

Plenty of times,
I ate in a crowded house,
where the crawdads sing
sinking their teeth into cranberries, meatloaf
and red hot chili peppers
served with a side order of pop slop
don't be put off by the name,
which mishmash actually yum zook,
nevertheless cuisine fiends spurred a tussle
where flock of seagulls
who got into a spat took
sparring mates to the cleaners
with angry yardbirds twittering about xyz,
and tweeting when loosely translated
into English language essentially meant
much ado about floccinaucinihilipilification,
(Sounds like
flaa·suh·now·suh·nai·uh·luh·pi·luh·fuh·kay·shn)
according to legendary interpretation
by expert ornithologist with keen insight
rivaling that of the eagles
known for their skill playing chess
ofttimes, use an upside-down rook
to designate a queen
under United States chess federation
rules and in casual play take a look
for yourself, rather than believe amateur
what might be considered poppycock hook
line and sinker qualifying as gobbledygook,
which utter nonsense I did cook
up, yet please feel welcome my gibberish to brook
the estimation of something as worthless.