less fitting in
more feeling sad.
less working to be different
and more being mad.
confused often
but still fun to be had.
with the company of these friends,
one can only be glad.
thankful for fortune
thankful for life
somedays are like gold
others cut deep like a knife.
a predictable poet,
a loveless heart.
a naive child,
a fool from the start.
juvenile at best,
the words that escape
forever muddled
and always late.
this is a shitty self-portrait,
a piece of garbage,
and i don't feel like
rhyming anymore.
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