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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Children's · #229261
Post Trauma Poetic Disorder. On all the bad poetry the muse of trauma inspires.
A.A.

Late for school as usual
Alamin, Why? OK! Then sit
In the corner and not a word
Write a poem about the disaster
Film you obviously saw last night
When you were supposed to be
Doing your maths.
Homework's pants! So too
The whole stupid goody-2-shoed class
With their tight fingers stuck up their lips
Already have their girly pictures pinned
To her ugly backed display board;
Hung, drawn and slaughtered.
They’re all so gay!
I hate this earth-pig day
Want to leave now or even cry
Just keep seeing the pen ‘n’ ink lie
Passing over the new white order
Of this lined paper.

Keep the cool, you yoyo schoolboy,
Sit and sort it, plot and ploy
A plague of aardvarks on her jewelled neck
Rotten missy, who does she think she is
Anyway, with her two silly faces
The statue of liberty, some big
Bright spark in the city,
Like my dad in the cockpit?
I’ll sort her, don’t you worry!
Got a rocket in my pocket,
Gonna blast her when I’m older
Going faster like I told her
Pile on her a loadda diss.
Pencil needs sharpening miss!
Turns a face, pretends not to listen
Questioning them instead all sat stuffing
Popcorn in their stupid mouths on the magic carpet,
Shoulder to sycophanatic shoulder
(Check your spelling boy)
Saying all the right meaning things
She wants them to like, like
I liked the part when the plane swerved past the tower.
Didn’t you miss?

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