This seems like fun. What do you all think?
Pen, I ship you with everyone.
are we living in a world of make believe
finding ourselves void
of even a spark of reality
surviving on cast off’s
remnants of other’s dreams
Upon my breast
sleeps the pages of
a smooth thick novel
spending the night with
a passionate story in
Your skin pages
the concept of a “Freudian Slip” just doesn’t make any sex to me at all
If you ask some you’ll hear tale,
Of how horrible I am,
How I frequently attack others over smallest faults,
How I batter them like a ram.
But how can it be that I attack,
When rarely do I speak?
Abuse taught me to internalize,
Rarely do my thoughts leak.
So why do I seem to some,
As a vile and savage beast?
One who kicks those while they’re down,
And has kittens for his nightly feast.
Truth be told I’m not so bad,
Maybe a little clumsy with my words,
And when I try to explain my lack of malice,
My explanations are unheard.
The mind likes to make itself a hero,
And likes to view the world in such a way,
Where they’re a survivor against impossible odds,
No matter what their “abusers” really did say.
I harbor no malice to anyone,
Unless they choose to strike me first,
But no one likes to see it that way,
They like to view me in the worst.