Metaphorically it's an illusion,
Of those who metaphorically used him,
But this grand intrusion,
Is what's infused within.
But similarly the simile,
Comparing him to me,
Through statements using set words,
And phrases that tend to hurt.
An onomatopoeia,
Mixed with what we're made of,
Noises we make,
When our faith begins to shake.
Maybe it's symbolic,
Symbolize the alcoholic,
Forget what I call it,
Children no longer frolic.
Words and letters and years,
Degrade me to less than tears,
Follow with my fears,
As I'm looked down on by my peers.
YOU ARE READING
A Dumb Transboy's Book of Poems
Poetry*throws phone out a window* HEY HI THIS IS IN THE 2017 WATTY AWARDS NOW IF YOU WANNA BORKING VOTE FOR ME <3 Highest Rating: #337 in Poetry 6/24/17
