Jerk The Jerk: Difference between revisions

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(Created page with "'''Jerk The Jerk''' is a poem written by Greg in early 2004. He posted it to his Mr Odd site. ([http://web.archive.org/web/20060111195421/http://mrodd.com/literature.html...")
 
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<div style="border:1px dotted #4682B4;padding:5px; background-color:#F0F8FF">Gee kids, this was fun. I had a few moments where my mind was absolutely dry of what exactly I was going to write about. Regardless, after all the troubles, I ended up with the poem above. You can conclude however you wish as to what it means, because you're probably right now matter what you say as long as it is technically correct. So... best wishes on your journey to defining my poetic intentions.</div>
<div style="border:1px dotted #4682B4;padding:5px; background-color:#F0F8FF">Gee kids, this was fun. I had a few moments where my mind was absolutely dry of what exactly I was going to write about. Regardless, after all the troubles, I ended up with the poem above. You can conclude however you wish as to what it means, because you're probably right now matter what you say as long as it is technically correct. So... best wishes on your journey to defining my poetic intentions.</div>


[[Category: Literature]]
[[Category: Literature]] [[Category: Poems]]

Revision as of 16:56, 6 April 2015

Jerk The Jerk is a poem written by Greg in early 2004. He posted it to his Mr Odd site. (Source)

Poem

Every time I look in your face,

Your eyes are dead,

You don’t care for me,

And so I leave,

While you turn back,

And flip on the TV.


I walk to the deli,

And the man looks down on me,

He treats me with a frown,

He looks away,

It’s as if I’m last night’s whore…

I guess I’ll forget to pay.


The world seems to be turning,

And I want to go with the flow,

But it turns the opposite way,

And so I walk in circles,

Smiling like it’s summer,

Yet I’m being swallowed by snow.


I come home and you’re still here,

Staring at the screen,

Ignoring me.

I say there’s dinner,

Then you’ll care,

But instead I see your hand,

As if I’ll serve you.


It’s like every time I try,

I’m wrong.

Since the last day I cried…

I’m just a ghost now.


You’re a cripple,

Or so you act like it,

And I’m the mother’s breast,

It’s only there for when you want to…

Just flip back on the TV.


Gee kids, this was fun. I had a few moments where my mind was absolutely dry of what exactly I was going to write about. Regardless, after all the troubles, I ended up with the poem above. You can conclude however you wish as to what it means, because you're probably right now matter what you say as long as it is technically correct. So... best wishes on your journey to defining my poetic intentions.