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But You Ain't
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One come up to me and sit
sit so close all up on
my space
I like to watch you speak
and pretend that you really
have friends but
you
don't!
come up to me and sit
real close, watch as my
fist comes up and
pops you one right in the nose
your friends (imaginary they are,
just as imaginary as the scene you go
through here)
they rush around, oh no
what happened to you?
they all say
and to your feet you are lifted
to stay... hopefully
You're mad now! FINALLY,
some other emotion besides stupidness
you feel
exhale out don't
hyperventalate yet,
oh, never mind
go ahead
I don't want to see you
hear you
feel you
in the same room again
stay away or an eye might
be forced through to the
back of your brain
This is an angry poem. The key is to leave it up to the imagination. What, you might ask, should you leave up to the imagination? That is up to you. Too much and you are not understood. Not enough and all understand but can't relate. Good job on leaving it up to the imagination.