a cute angle.

bitter november

well im pretty sure

im bipolar

a schizofrenic mess

like my father was

I dress like another

type of guy that you've seen

stumbling up and down your street

and my hair

is long and hangs like the people

that you've read of in history books

put on trial for questionable

actions and past histories

of violence

My pockets stocked full of paper

typewritten words

cover parchment reading out loudly

phrases and sayings

that you've heard around

quoted by criminal masterminds

with agendas and a resume that puts the chills

along your spine

My time spent patiently waiting

for suffocating children to keel over

a chair only wanting to cry out for a mother

that was never there

when they needed her to be

and my mouth like theirs

sewn shut and put up on a shelf

in a jar like the cookies they reached at

for a necessary sugar fix was in order

The next step in their lives

My existence thought out before

closely resembling a

native born

in the dirt

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