This set of paper-towels
is really fuckin' gettin' on my nerves,
because it doesn't fit on my table!
But, fuck me, right?
There's nowhere else to put'em
where the convenience of others
is respected right down to the trim.
Day in, day out-
All I can ever seem to get my hands around
is the back of your hair
while I have to be the one
who does the dishes
in this stupid lair.
I thought he'd pick up his weight,
because he had years
upon me,
but he just denied
what sat right
in front of his pale, white face.
What a sorry disgrace!
YOU ARE READING
the Dawning of Rage (poetry)
PoetryThis is a book of enraged poems. Don't say I didn't warn you! The purpose of this book, essentially, serves as a therapeutic outlet. This is NOT some manifesto, but a place of expression. Feelings of such loathing and hate, I don't believe, should b...
