Many people wish to know me, and I used to want to let them know all of me. But I've come to the conclusion that people only like what they see, and will scorn those they hate. Not too long ago, I've learned things about people, and who they become in different environments. This is my ode to my story, which people ask for, but won't listen to, and in the end, left me buried alone while they kept up the illusion of happiness with the people I brought together.
Ladies and gents, I give you A Poet's Final Bow.
I was once a shell, an empty husk,
I lived nothing from dawn to dusk.
I was once a no one,
Knew by all, but friend to none.
And I was once a reader, a seer of tale,
Now I am a poet, stories hidden behind veil.
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So I start when I was fresh, the bottom of four years,
Beginning with few friends, and five-hundred peers.
I wandered those halls, alone and forgotten,
Wishing I was like others, for I wasn't like my Gen'.
But then I met someone interesting, and cool.
But would later on feel like a discarded tool.
Turned out we shared class; not one or two, but three!
And our friendship grew like the blossoms on a tree.
We'd mine and craft,
Shared memes and laughed.
I wonder now if I had been too rushed,
And that was why our friendship was crushed.
For I was like my generation, though I didn't know,
Seeking a relationship that I should've seen wouldn't grow.
But the summer rolled around, and distance grew,
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And I was oblivious to the danger I'd soon brew.
And when I entered year two of four,
I was back again, but sooner than before.
I'd joined a program, it's purpose to IGNITE.
But it was a bust for some, the Freshmen taking flight.
During the training, I proved my worth,
And Executive rank to me was given birth.
After the orientation, which was actually not bad,
I was called again, for transfer lasses and lad.
And there I met my dear Ramsey,
How I was the day never came to BE!
But we live to learn,
And the lessons will burn.
I showed him around, as I was told,
And promised to be his friend; but I never fit his mold.
I introduced him to there others,
And we were a family of different mothers.
Happy and great,
Together with no hate.
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I saw the changes, the flaws,
I saw the shadow, looming with its jaws.
My dearest friend became someone new,
Controlling and darker, showing me her brew.
My brother Ramsey was impulsive and alone,
Turning into Pygmalion, trying to find his woman of stone.
And I saw this, and became my shadow again,
Slipping away, further and wondering what would've been.
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I'M SUCH A FOOL!
IN THE END, I WAS A TOOL!
I SAW THE CHANGES, AND DRIFTED AWAY,
AND NO ONE LISTENED TO WHAT I HAD TO SAY!
MY HEART WAS BROKEN, AND I WAS SOON LOST,
BUT THEN JUDGED BECAUSE OF THE COST!
I SHUT MYSELF OUT, AS PEOPLE DO,
BUT TO THEM I WAS FUCKING SHIT ON A SHOE!
SO WOE TO THEM, MAY THEY ROT IN HELL!
FOR MY TALE AND FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS WERE AN EMPTY SHELL!
THAT'S WHAT I GOT, WHEN I LOOKED AT FIRST LIGHT,
FOR THEY SAW ME AS EVIL, AND I TO BE VANQUISHED BY THEIR MIGHT!
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Now I am broken and shattered,
I look back and none of it mattered.
So now I plot and plan and scheme,
And how I wished I forged it into a deadly beam.
For my dearest Smash expert, I hang you over the cliff,
And send you down to the rocks to shatter, no longer stiff.
For you broke my heart the most,
Just because I was young and immature; and you saw a ghost.
For my chef friend Ramsey, I cast you to the dark,
Forever sinking, forever alone, you body painfully devoted by a shark.
For you left me on the street, cut and bleeding,
Now I cut you like a cow, and send your corpse for bleeding.
For the tiny person who was older,
I leave you on the road, the sun making your tied self smolder.
For you are annoying, like the stinging of sparks,
Now I leave you to burn with sunburned marks.
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Now I sit, darkness satisfied.
For their lives I have just denied.
They wanted to see my alone and shattered,
But I have risen, alive and battered.
Now I wait for them to come back,
For I'm the beginning, and they'll return to my shack.
I connected them first, and that they know,
So they'll come to me when they want fruit to grow.
A poet's Final Bow is a true story. This is from my point of view. I did wait for them to return and ask for my help, and when one of them did, I was nicer than I wanted to be. At that point, I'd calmed down, and there'd be no point in anything that included them. But that doesn't mean I'm free from the feelings. But I'm in a new place, far from them, and since last year, I've only seen them once, each. I'm happier now, and I've learned my lesson. I'm curious to see what you all think.247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5vltNxcmp1
Ciao for now,247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡziYYnDaboB
