They tried to colour me crazy.
Filling my head with As and Bs
but only As because a B is for low life
dirt pushing fuckers with no dreams.
They told me to read.
read books of a history, not mine,
and plays of troubled souls
speaking in tongues and soliloquies
that I dont understand but I nod and agree
as they crank their hands and the climax is saturated
in self satisfaction when their hands plunge deep.
Not for me. But for they.
Degree wielding warriors ready to educate
on who to be but remember no Bs if you want to be
somebody recognised by me and she, he, them, they,
won't stop till they colour me crazy. 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is not necessarily the title I had in mind for this poem, but it will suffice for now. If anybody has any suggestions for a title then please do tell me. After reading over this poem I have decided it is best performed rather than read but I do not have the courage to go out and perform it. So I will post it here 

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