Maybe A Stick, Or A Stone.

All's I got to say...f.uck them. I used to let it get to me. But then I realized what it was all about. And now I just feel sorry for those people who think they need to beat me down to feel better about their own non-original self-loathing self. As a matter of fact, I've learned to love how people pick on me and look at me. I know it's because I'm different. I'm pretty sure I don't smell bad *sniff* nah, I don't think that's it. I'm doing the world a favor and letting them take the aggression out on me that they have towards themselves and the disguise that everybody else has. They secretly hate themselves for conforming, but they won't do anything to change that. Nope, because they hate change, and they won't be themselves if it means they have to change from what they are pretending to be. So I'm glad to be their punching bag per-say. It'll bite them in the arse soon enough.

Now that I got that out, this was a wonderful poem. And it's a weird way to write it, about how they wish it was a physical pain instead of mental. But it makes a hell of a lot of sense. Good write m'love

Take Care,
Renee