Please excuse spelling errors. I don't have spell check and I am not the best at spelling.
The people, they need a crucifiction
We will need a double-cross
The crown of thorns, those conservative morals
They tear at us, we forget what we lost
The world would have been better if the ice never melted
If we didnt cover it with our emotional frost
The sorrow is cold when kept in the stomache
The acid burns a hole in our minds
If all you want to do is wallow
the present would do fine without your judging eyes
You know what I mean when there's no need to hide it
But when it besmearches your crown you cover it in lies
We all have agendas that keep us from laughing
We all need something we can hint to in lies
Children Witness the ice walls collapsing
The sun is bright in the hole ridden skies
I'm Not... But
I'm not amazing,
I can't write in cursive,
I've forgotten most the letters.
I can't draw the same thing twice,
It's always something new.
It takes me too long to distinguish right from left,
Maybe I'm dyslexic.
But I'd be happy being dyslexic, with you.
I'm not wonderful,
I make fun of strangers,
When they are too far too hear.
I get frusterated too easilly,
When things don't go my way.
And I'll never give up an argument
Untill my opinnion is accepted.
But I'd be happy being oppinionated, with you.
I'm far from beautiful,
I'm not really ugly,
But my face isn't remarkable.
I don't have the best body,
I don't look good without a shirt on.
I'm not as pure as everyone thinks,
I have my creepy moments.
But I'd be happy being creepy, with you.
I'm not a genius,
I'm not too good with numbers,
It takes forever to do them in my head.
I'm not the best writer,
This poem at least proves that.
And I always go the hard way around,
Maybe I am too logical in a dumb way.
But I'd be happy being dumb, with you.
So if you can accept me
For the way I am,
Let's be smart together,
Let's be creepy together,
Let's be happy together,
Let's be together.
Too Much Information
Too Much Information
Pissing in private, he doesnt like an audience.
It stops him up, he cannot go! He cannot get in the zone.
He pushes hard, its all dried up, he'll wait till he gets home.
Or in the pool where an old man swims, drinking as he goes.
He doesn't like conformity. He's an angry little flea.
A boy who gets everything, doesn't need a thing.
He wants to be popular, he wants to be unique.
The only thing keeping him is his own two feet.
He's Angry at the internet, that mass of grand deciet.
He doesn't like the troubled people, they all like to excrete,
Photographs of themselves, so sad at age 14,
While complaining that the world's against them, or how they are incomplete.
He's tired of hearing about how it is so tough
And he's tired of the suicide they all love to butter up.
And all he can write about is how he's angry at the world,
He doesn't even realize untill he types it up.
He's too afraid to write of sunshine and happiness.
What would his friends think if they saw it?