You said I was,
Lazy untidy,
Worse idle,
I can't fault illegible,
Cause you can't tell,
That I can't spell,
It is respite,
From the fight.

I wear
Your Scorn,
Deep Sore,
You think,
That your,
Clever clogs,
Knit fog,
Full of pride,
Do the impossible,
And when you're waiting,
For that pat,
On your fat,
Head exhausted,
I'll punch you,
In the gut
Miss lies,
Call you names,
And tell you,
Do it all again,
Try harder!
Next time!


Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson said...

An angry poem, I still find it hard that for many children school is not fun, is perhaps hardly bearable.

7:40 PM  
Blogger Cocaine Jesus said...

i was a total bugger at school but enjoyed every minute of it but i know my poor old teachers didn't. my son however and my middlee daughter hated/hate it. i don't know if blame should be apportioned and if so to whom? the kids? the teachers? us as parents?
good point though and good poem.

8:29 PM  
Blogger Russell Ragsdale said...

Wow, I was so distracted with Feral Child I almost missed this gem. Anger is real, and dealing with is is real; therefore you must always consider the possibility of writing about it. Thanks! This was great!

2:28 AM  
Blogger iamnasra said...

Amzing what we can see behind the wall of face...As we sink deeper in someone else soul it is not all glowing..Loved your poem Sue

10:18 PM  
Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson said...

This is me and my inner turmoil of school and low self esteem, the fight to be normal

11:09 PM  

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