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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Biographical · #1335892
This is what I the author wrote to display my views on my life.
I am but an allegory,

My name cannot be pronounced,
you may try but you won't succeed.
My hair changes style, every time I move my head.
My face is but a blackboard,
just somewhere my expression can be drawn.

My body is of slitheen, but I am just a weakling.
I am a wimp who runs from danger,
and is hurt by every comment.

I feel great depression
but it gives me strength, inner strength.
I somehow find the strength to keep returning
to where I know pain and ridicule waits.

I have a skill, a gift, or maybe a curse.
I can make anything depressing,
and I have an imagination so good,
it makes me paranoid and tortures me with images.

But in me burns a fire, burning with the rage, hate,
Anger and hurt, from all the years I have been alive,
but mostly I get the rage from school,
where I lost my soul.

So now I will run from you, be scared of you,
you may consider me entertainment, or a rude thug,
who needs some rough justice.

But you better watch for that look in my eyes,
look for the cold fiery unblinking eyes,
the tensioned, clenching and unclenching hands.
Watch for my posture tightening up,
because when I snap,
it doesn't matter if you have a gun to my balls and a knife in my chest.
Nothing will stand in my way.

Yes I'm weak but for what I've been through,
You will never stop me finding a way to run.
Even if it means fighting the Primeminister,
I will RUN!!!
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