ESB
03-17-2003, 06:52 PM
This is a poem I wrote last year. It describes how I feel about being upset/mad/angry at the world around me. Feel free to critique, or express how you feel after reading it.
Anger in my pocket. I carry it around like a trinket. It can be useful in certain situations. Sometimes it gets heavy though. I sag to one side. People smile at me funny when I sag to one side. I try to explain that it is just the anger in my pocket, but they scrunch their eyes and crease their foreheads at me. Owell, it is just the anger in my pocket. I can help it, but I like it there in a small place outside of myself. Convenience should not be bothered. And the anger in my pocket is convenient. I often wear the same pants because I hate taking it out. It makes me mad to hold it next to the soft skin of my pink palm. It is not convenient to change my pants. Changing clothes is not a situation to be mad about. The anger loses its usefulness in this situation. I just thought I would tell you why I always where the same pants. I do change my shirt and underwear. Sometimes I change my socks. Not always, though.
Anger in my pocket. I carry it around like a trinket. It can be useful in certain situations. Sometimes it gets heavy though. I sag to one side. People smile at me funny when I sag to one side. I try to explain that it is just the anger in my pocket, but they scrunch their eyes and crease their foreheads at me. Owell, it is just the anger in my pocket. I can help it, but I like it there in a small place outside of myself. Convenience should not be bothered. And the anger in my pocket is convenient. I often wear the same pants because I hate taking it out. It makes me mad to hold it next to the soft skin of my pink palm. It is not convenient to change my pants. Changing clothes is not a situation to be mad about. The anger loses its usefulness in this situation. I just thought I would tell you why I always where the same pants. I do change my shirt and underwear. Sometimes I change my socks. Not always, though.