"substandard" poems
We are so close, but not just by physical touch;
I can feel you the way I feel my cheeks warm up,
after you have said something
that inevitably causes me to blush.
Its as though our souls are connecting
on the same frequency
radiating off the core of this Earth.
This pleasure is unnoticed by most,
but we can feel it
like we feel the blood dripping down our thighs
on a substandard night.
Before we started talking, so many years ago,
I never believed in true love
or really love at all.
I always assumed it was just all in the head,
and two people could only connect to a point,
unless you were related to each other.
After the first year and a half or so of talking to you regularly,
you proved me wrong.
You proved what I grew up believing
for 16 to 17 years was completely false.
For if I had never met you,
to this day, I more than likely would of continued preaching
to myself, that everyone else
who has experienced this feeling called
'love' was insane.
Life without you would of still been bearable,
but only because I would still be lost in ignorance.
I am more than grateful you walked out of your way
to meet up with me that night three summers ago.
I owe you so much, and will cherish every moment
I'm blessed with standing by your side.
I'll make it a point to provide a nurturing life for you,
one worth living for.
You are my world, my inspiration,
the main reason I look forward to waking up,
or falling asleep cuddled in your lovely arms.
I cannot wait to see you later today and hug you,
while my heart races with satisfaction
like the first time you put your arm around me.
This is more than just some fairy-tale,
this is still the beginning steps of our long journey together.
So we mustn't give up when things go south,
for if we do,
it will be the undoing
of what our relationship has always been about.
You truly are my best friend,
the one person who'll never let me fall
if you know you are capable of preventing it,
even if i don't want your help at all. I appreciate that,
even when my words or actions do not acknowledge it.
You truly are the only reason i was able to climb out of that dark lonely tunnel of agonizing depression;
for everyone else either dragged me father down or walked out.
You are my life saver, my sweet guardian angel.
I love you, my dearest, Chris, forever and always.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
i.
Agone day's, I kneweth not amour' mine godly Apostle
I only understood fear, sorrow's, none outlook for tomorrow;
Though I kneweth, ourn creator wouldst send me a seraph
Twas I, was only a serf, I didn't not deserve a queen and a angel.
ii.
I never couldst discover where that secret treasure was hidden
I looked, and waited, and hoped, also hopeless on the find;
I wore mine heart on mine sleeve, waiting, waiting, none to be,
But now I do knoweth, Jehovah hadst his plan, thee: one in tan.
iii.
Yahweh tooketh away, all the substandard's and ourn past strife's
Just at his right moment, in his will, not ourn own, he made right;
He parted the sea's, and moonlit dream's, for me and thee lover
For me and thee queen, forever to be; eternally husband an wife.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
(Read from the bottom up)
~kns
At the bottom.
Old news.
Dead.
Nothing but deflated.
Now I’m no one.
the sneering planes.
the disdainful clouds,
the sarcastic stars,
The mocking planets
Past the laughing heavens.
I’m falling now.
POP.
It backfires.
Everything.
Every ***** trick.
Every lie.
I use everything I have to get up there.
I struggle.
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
I need to go
Yet, I’m not satisfied.
The imperfect heavens.
The shoddy planets.
The second-rate stars.
The mediocre clouds.
Beyond the substandard planes.
I’m at the top.
To dwell in the shining heavens.
To greet the egotistical planets.
To outshine the fading stars.
to test the pressure of the atmosphere.
my greedy desire,
I must fulfill my need,
Higher than any cloud has ever reached.
height.
To float higher than
height.
in a competition of
To beat each plane
than to go higher.
Nothing else matters
Higher.
Higher.
Higher.
I’m floating now.
Freedom.
I grab the chance to get out.
releases its grip.
It gets distracted and
some cruel being.
Chained to the ground by the claws of
At the bottom.
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Once for Halloween
I dressed up as Athena
The Greek goddess
My favorite Greek goddess
And it was a decent costume
Your standard iParty fare
Paired with an elaborate hairdo and some 50 cent earrings
And I knew I was only a cheap imitation
Nothing close to the real thing
For no one would ever build me a temple
Burn cattle in my name
Put on white robes and fall to their knees
For me
No, not for me
But for Athena
Oh, how they fell!
How the ancient Greeks worshipped her very name
Gave her their capital city
And dedicated the most powerful force to her
Wisdom
That force which drove the philosophers
The very energy
That sustained Socrates
And Plato
And Aristotle
And all those dead guys we read about in class
I was in a class
Reading the words those dead guys collected
In their moments of clarity
But all I could think about
All I really wanted
Was to throw on a white robe
And fall to my knees at the Parthenon
Begging for wisdom, wisdom
Please, Athena, some wisdom!
I don't care if it's heresy
I don't care if you're a myth nowadays
Because you once reigned
You once stood on Mount Olympus
In all your ancient power
And watched your people crying out wisdom, Athena, wisdom!
Please!
I wish
I could have been there
I wish I could have seen
The day the goddess cracked open Zeus's skull
And was born
Fully armed
Ready for her battle
Not the fight for wisdom, no
The fight she faced was undying
The war she would lead
Would ripple through the ages
Taking all civilizations
And tearing at their social order
For it was the men she was fighting
The disbelieving fools who put her *** down
Taking all women's wisdom
And deeming it inferior
Substandard
Not good enough
So Athena blazed in glory
And for her, men believed
Believed in their mothers and wives and daughters
Saw in that enthroned goddess
The sparks that fueled women's minds
Yes, I wish I'd been there
I wish I could have kissed her sword
And asked her to stick around
To blaze her way to the twenty-first century
And make these guys tremble, too
Instead
I look around my 80% male college of engineering
And wonder why I need to prove my worth
Simply because I have a second x chromosome
I wish that I could blaze in glory
And dazzle them all the same
That my Halloween costume could be enough to fool them
That they would turn their toga-party bedsheets
Into white robes
And fall to their knees
Gasping, "Wisdom, wisdom!"
And that, for one moment
I could be their goddess
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC
Pencils are opportunities, it dulls as you write,
mistakes slowly burns the red rubber ****
and sharpeners are luxuries or government help or socialism.
But what about cheap pencils,
whose lead dulls or breaks easily.
Pencils are all equal if you look it in the outside
but what you can't see is that these cheap pencils
does not have a solid strip of lead inside,
it has some small quantities of opportunities to write.
I need to sharpen it once in a while
so I can clearly write.
But not everyone has sharpeners nor extra pencils,
some even bought this kind of pencil
with all the money they have
and they cannot write their stories
and their happy endings,
when the luster of their leads are constantly fading
into white, swallowed by the open
free-market place of ideas blank paper.
And I can't blame the poor vendor who sold me
these substandard opportunities.
However,
I am blaming the owners of factories,
for making such lousy imitations,
for exploiting my hunger to write.
I am blaming the government,
for allowing such pencils to ever exist!
Their lust for power, their greed takes away
my opportunities to write clearly and continuously,
I am blaming them for assuming that all of us have sharpeners!
We should not pay for social sharpening services!
Sharpeners and pencils should be free!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
My life is a paradoxical monstrosity
A contradiction in itself
Where to start?
Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps
Occupation,
I play with words.
How naughty does that sound?
Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors
Writer by day, storyteller by night
And of course I love what I do
And I hate what I do
How very poetic of you!
Why thank you!
Sorry, the inner child speaks.
Back to writing,
And the moments of fantastic ecstasy
Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble
Clicks.
The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity
No fastidious statements
Or meaningless passages.
Just words, feelings, meanings
Soul.
That doesn't sound so bad you say
IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA!
For the most I am frustrated.
Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep.
When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least.
Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction
So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied?
Ow.
Please, I need an answer
I've been looking for answers for nineteen years,
But have I been asking the right questions?
Are there any answers?
Another question
No, that was the question
Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind?
I recently realised there are no facts
Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed
I quite fancy being one of those guys
A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard
And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose
Fact.
But what if finding your purpose is your purpose?
I'll leave you with that.
This is my life.
Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really.
I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly.
Oh and Saturday morning cartoons.
I have problems, enormous world ending problems
But it's all relative.
Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky.
I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option
Most likely, frightfully boring
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
I favour the deep, impenetrable truth of the jungle
Over the smooth ride over sleek black rubber;
The ***** disturbing, demented disorder;
The distortions of the lights we bathe on,
Over outward alignments and the staleness of systems.
I favour the cheap, rugged, bittersweet taste
Of a late night's substandard drink,
In the midst of true lights and shadows
And the uncertainty they cast upon us,
Over the orderly and satisfactory--
The dead pleasures and securities that
Exist nowhere but in feeble projections.
I favour the basic, primeval, animal grunt--
The dirt, the dizziness of true treading
Across the muddy shallows--,
Over the clattering of an overflowed,
Certain mind.
I favour doubt, earnest doubt,
Unpalatable doubt, inescapable doubt--
A smile in a pitch-black room,
A journey on a lukewarm air balloon,
A half-finished sentence in a half-serious gloom--,
Over hasty conclusions and tainted allusions.
I favour the endearing messiness of reality;
The chaos of light and dreams;
The mystery, so out of reach,
Of you and me and the space in-between;
The stained, torn, shattered, burnt,
Twisted texture we find ourselves upon,
Over the smooth, marble-white,
Sterile surface where false certainties
Slide, grinning, before they find themselves
On an impending collision with the infectious hesitation of the ground.
I favour the acknowledging look
Straight into the eye;
A ladder with one step;
A race with no competitors;
A contentment without resentment;
A bread on your table that's good enough,
That doesn't tease you and promise you more,
And more,
And more,
So that you forget what you should really care for,
What lies deep under your skin,
What stirs up the dormant contents of your guts--
You climb to the hilltop
Which finally allows you to have
A peek at the next one.
I favour uncertainty and risk,
And walking too close to the edge;
I favour barely enough,
And cutting it too close;
I favour throwing all excess over the board,
And lowering standards;
I favour the taste of imminent failure
And the adrenaline of a heart-wakening sprint;
I favour meagre means
And big dreams, free of currencies;
For they all remind me what the world
Really looks like,
Who I really am,
And what the winter-night winds
Really feel like.
I favour the ways of nature, often erratic,
***** ugly and convoluted,
Often dumbfounding,
Unintentionally intelligent and mysterious,
Over the ways of fear-ridden constructions,
For there is no such thing
As a straight line.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
my credentials in appreciating beauty dictates,
to prefer a pair, sagging a bit,
than those perfectly sculped,
with substandard silicon.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
Its something about that
crack
of the morning
solitude
Becoming one alongside the
energy
conveyed upon every full, comforting gust of
wind
with every frigid grain of sand
collected
in the burrows between your
toes
How the proverbial crash and sizzle out of an alkaline
wave
can intimately caress ones depth of
recollection
so swift and flirtatious,
passionate.
Reflecting the honest
actuality
Honorable substandard grotesque
indifferent
Reminding us that we can
procure
tranquility within
pandemonium
perfection in chaos and
inadequacy
an erie absence of inorganic
resonance
in an alone, but not lonely repose,
comfort
pending that
crack
of the morning
solitude.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
To be defined as
Conforming to standard
To be just like any other *******
This is what is to be pandered
The good name ‘Unique’ is slandered
To be gerrymandered,
Nonstandard, and substandard
To be normal?
Referring to the common type
To understand ordinary hype
To be stereotyped
To have a good reason to gripe
To be normal?
To be defined as only average
To live in societies cage
To suffer such rage
Looking for love on an empty page
Missing out on a golden age
To be normal?
Bound in law isn’t free
Conforming to minor guarantee
To pay life’s admission fee
If I were you, the joke is on me
Normal isn’t what you should be
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:30 AM UTC
4X6 inches
*of perfection on a screen
a hint of tortured possibilities
carried in the pocket
of a life built
through blinders and
the most beautiful denial*
4X6 inches
*of hope undeniable
the foundation of dreams
dragging rough
through cascading walls
of a substandard fairytale
that twisted joy unhappy*
4X6 inches
*of a smile through a hurricane
bleeding pain through evaporating tears
a reality forged through time uncountable
landing in the rays truth created
when love proved
the existence of fate*
4X6 inches
*of peace over pain
a wand in magical medicinals
crashing through solitary anguish
with eyes piercing armor
weaved in passive aggression
leading the lost home*
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
As summer air swaddles me from
ear to waist, the most benign of all sounds sets off a biological riot in me &nights; like these
take my breath away enough to stir up in me the awarenessthat
I
am not
what they want.
Neither Satan nor Substandard
could beg more than what I've been aching to portray.
Both less than and less than
hold their finely tuned scopes and too-broad knowledge to every detail I present.
Neither more eager to please than the other, I blend
devil's advocacy with indifference, but I still can't make either pair of eyes
lips or
fingertips
meet mine.
Oh & Satan,dearest when you take my hand I melt,
I'm desperate to stitch it toyours. But you've no use
for the doppleganger I'd become
to coax approval from the masses.
With that, I crane my neck to see the tower that you are, Substandard. Pleading indecency
and
scoffing at regret, I could almost
mistake your saccharine tone
of voice for the alluring Song of Satan.
I gather up my sins into a bundle and leave them by your side while I plead with fate to condemn my
soul,
elicit a wisp of affection from you,
something for me to hold onto
until winter returns.
What sort of discomfort can coerce a girl to pray for madness just to win inadequacy over?
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
They stand with their hands in their pockets.
One man adjusts his mesh cap, an excuse.
Something tiny, precious, real bleeps furiously through cargo khakis.
He types expertly with one finger and smiles chapped lips to himself.
Leaning against the uneven coffee counter, he reaches for his latte
and walks out the door with his fashion twin and best work friend:
grown men who assimilate in substandard choices to fit-in
years past high school.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
I mourn for me
because mourning is all I feel.
I mourn the souls forgone
lost brethren denied the dawn of a new day
I mourn the aborted children
lights of the world shinning
only in the beyond.
I mourn for the breast that never gave suckle
to a child
and the child that never ****** breast.
I mourn for broken homes
The genesis of a rotten society.
I mourn for children and graduates
on the streets chasing vehicles
and turning to our own Usain Bolt.
I mourn youths basking
in the decadence of morality.
I mourn the ideology
that everyone MUST go to school.
Creativity lies dead
and a certificate is the only aim in our head.
I mourn because of what I see on TV
Vixens displaying **** bodies like CV
I mourn for my sisters, aunties cousins nieces;
Victims of domestic violence.
I mourn because they agonize in silence
I mourn for inmates in cells,
Cells worse than hell;
I mourn for those innocent crimes
those locked up for a little fine.
I mourn for creative minds
discouraged by the webbed hands of piracy.
I mourn for the Fallen Giant, NIGERIA,
chained hands and feet,
Master of corruption
and slaves of procrastination.
I mourn the incessant fuel scarcity,
half baked graduates
from the substandard oven
of our varsities.
I mourn 'cause we have lost the way.
These are what I mourn for,
I mourn for this and more..........
when will yonder future
glue back dreams with suture?
shattered dreams is what I mourn for
being amidst sorrows that hollow our fellow.
I mourn for war victims
in Gaza, Syria and Nigeria
that wakes not with joy.
look at that girl and boy
their bloods spilled on our soil.
I mourn for you, my queen and Roy.
with piety I pray thee sweet eternity.
I mourn for forgotten souls
What does yonder holds for us?
I mourn lost heroes;
those that sleeps with saddened pillows.
I mourn
I mourn,
how many wake
to see the dawn?
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
My sadness makes no sense,
Like what you said.
It's substandard
It's self-absorbed
It's not fine.
My cheerless comes from rejection
Rejection to accept me
To the world
From myself
I dread of rejection
My sadness secrete in my shadow
Behind my smile
Behind my laugh
Behind my happiness
This sadness is forbidden
My sadness comes from waves
i am drowning,
sinking,
but slowly dying
still smiling
This kind of sadness is verboten
So i covert
With my pen
And a paper
To write a poem
This sadness made a scar in my heart; a mark that will be remembered
And i'm sorry that this sadness hurt you, the way it hurt me.
Just like you, i hate this feeling overwhelming, and i'm sorry.
j.d.p
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
My poetry doesn't have to perfect.
It usually sounds incomplete,
Or sloppy
And exaggerated.
While mostly careless
Written completely miserably
It turns out substandard
My poetry usually feels like you.
However, on occasion my writing is immaculate;
Reaching heights of beauty;
No flower ever dreamed of being so elegant.
Vines twisting into words forming sentence forming rhythm,
Pristine sparkling letters dripping from each petal.
I am euphoric and growing each day
This writing is a mirror into the garden taking over your spot in my mind.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
Spending good money on theater tickets for a fright when the six o'clock news plays for free each night ? Pay top dollar for " Spring water " bottled in plastic choking the oceans ? Sugar free sodas are nothing more than a cumulative poison just like all the others ! Marijuana is taboo , but fast food is cool ? Twenty years for selling it ! Perfectly fine to feed your kids rat poison with a toy stuck in it ! Pay no attention to a refreshing drink that cleans the terminals on car batteries ? Processed flour with roach droppings in it ? Antibiotics , genetically modified produce , earthquakes in Oklahoma from fracking ! Leveling trees in metro Atlanta to build substandard housing !
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
I can still recall the scent of my three loves.
Every night, sleeping is torture for my restless, substandard emotions.
I don’t want to keep living a life like this.
I can’t stand being away from you for so long.
Come to me and live with me, love me so.
I need comfort. Comfort from your soft lips and voice.
Concerts and friends and parties, none of it satisfies me.
Escape into my fantasy worlds forever with a bullet’s help.
But I couldn’t leave you behind to cry over me.
Marshall left this building months ago. Call me his corpse.
Revive me. Cry for me. Crave me. Lie for me.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Telling a lie
Always wanting to shine
When really I was polished the wrong way
My heart was really on decline
Saying her name
Used to be a praise
Now all it is
Is just a way to go down
And cry
Wishing she was mine again
When really she being gone
Was my pilgrimage to a great revival
Very vital
For my arrival that
I stay mindful
Of my trifles
Due to how I’m always tripping on the cracks
That makes everything black
Activating my brain
And making me rage
Since my temper is on edge
With my neck
That is carrying a lot of the sweat I get
From ******* tryna wreak my moderation
Tryna give me a education
In how to be substandard
And Rendered into something
Worst than America giving a Cheeto
The leveage to all of our bombs
So now I’m just thinking about what you did wrong
Instead of my flaws
I’m reminding you of what you missed on
Always catching wrong
Missing all shots
Finally hit a home run
But didn’t run
Instead you walked away
And became a snob
Who couldn’t turn a ****
As if it was Brittney telling a song
Without hatred and love
Always switching up to benefit your life
But messing with my redefined mind
Which has no space to give you my time
So I’ma make this short and give you a new comprehension
Don’t look at me
Don’t say you gonna love
Or that you gonna **** me
Because all you really doing is lying to yourself
Because I’m non penetrable
Due to my thick skull
That’s always getting dull from whenever you wanna score
Instead you fumble
Like the dolphins in the playoffs
Now I wish you good luck
Since your sorry *** just loss all your luck
When you left me taking a piece of my
❤️
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 3:18 AM UTC
what do we all really want? do we know? is it the unknown? is it familiar to strangers or loved ones and just unbeknownst to us?
an odd thought...well not really but you know
I hold myself in my own self proclaimed aura of power by holding my secrets close to my heart and letting others know, that i know, just exactly what i want. I mean i'm sure that's what we associate with power, right? who wants or even needs someone who has no singular recollection of controlling what the mind sporadically desires. I know what i want but that cancels itself out and leaves me thinking in a disjointed manner, just what do i want? and stemming off that, why? and stemming off that how? and stemming off that, does this ever stop?
careful calculation, artistic determination, a 'so called' higher thought process, and lastly, an urge or a will. the ingredients to creation,success and maybe self fulfillment are so substandard, the faux, as I once lovingly called it. The faux, a careful concealment and fluorescent indicator to all around us. It's absolute ******** but so much fun
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
God Has A Plan
God has a plan.
A plan?
What does it mean?
And what is God?
Not meaning to be mean,
I want to take in
Them’s that do and them’s that don’t
Believe or doubt.
If followed to the end,
All roads lead home to Rome.
Good-natured, good humored,
Dastard, *******
Substandard, no standard
Which means bad, good and all the world.
The plan, a plan
Is interesting indeed.
To analyze, interpret, give word to,
For we need
A word to read, be heard,
To take into the heart and head.
If you are a keen observer
Of the concrete and empirical,
You see that things have patterns,
(for example, thought and matter).
Post- and pre- the pattern makes it lyrical.
(That for fun – the main thing is the plan.)
Laws to measure, near and clear,
Self-evident, plain as the nose upon your face.
(Water seeks the lowest space).
Laws unclear, obscure, inferred,
Laws that find no place in science.
Plan, the God adored - is Law;
Door short of adoration.
There’s nothing wrong
With seeing through those eyes,
To please
Those on the border
Of belief and dis-
belief.
God Has A Plan 3.30.2017
God Book II; Circling Round Science II; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC
Those eyes
are broken
Open up
and really look
The silly
stupid
mongoloid world
you cloak yourself in
is a substandard joke
A token of esteem
to your own
mediocrity
I wish
I could climb back
into the ground
and use the earth
to drown
out
the sound
of this useless
hopeless
mewling
trash heap.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
I'm always a substandard girl to you,
I'm not always going to be what you want me to be,
I'm average,
You want perfect,
I **** up,
I **** up so bad that the gods would cry,
And you won't accept that,
It simply isn't acceptable to you,
But when I **** up,
When I do all these mistakes
I learn,
Better than your words can ever teach me,
And I try,
I really do,
To be less substandard than you think of me,
But I don't think it'll ever be good enough,
To you I'm inadequate,
And for that I shall forever be miserable.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
i am no longer a girl;
my body has played host
to the fourth of the Fates,
and this is the twilight, unfolding.
the midday has seen clotho, spinning the thread
has seen lachesis measuring it, atropos cutting it.
and here i sit, a figure in the sunset —
a silhouette of a weaver in tattered dress
my heartbeat, a substandard thread,
a mess in my pockets
getting shorter and shorter
with each wound sewn shut
and yet,
a seagull's flap,
a poke of a stick,
and all these stitches come undone.
a cautious breath,
a loosened thread,
and the sunsets learn a new shade of red.
Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
Substandard Tires
The customer rants and raves at me saying it’s all my fault
And my colleague’s and my employer that he’s got no family
He threatens all of us with court and is off to see the judge
You’ll be in the dock all together he warns for ******
Treating me like I’m the CEO and God of ACME Tires
I just answer the phone and reply to emails
I never made the substandard tires on his car
That failed and killed his daughter wife and sister
He rants and raves and it lasts an hour
All recorded he states finally stopping
If I was employed by the Illuminati
Making cups of tea would he sue me?
For not making his tea sweet enough
Now I nod and say what an ********
I’m so glad he can hear me
His tires will soon fail…
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 9:42 PM UTC