Literature
Chairman of the Bored
I will not regurgitate your words.
The spoon fed mush you shoved
Into my ears was spat out of my
Mind months and months ago.
I am not sorry that I see things
Through different eyes, marks after all
Are no true reflection of what is inside
This patchwork nest of a head.
I do not regret being the unexpected.
Sure, it hurts to be put down at
Every second corner, but recognition
Was never truly my aim here.
I cannot forgive the blindness
That has been given reign, you all
Are blinkered by the bricks and blocks
That have been stacked by the board.
I refuse to bluntly run straight into
The wall of your questions, bashing out
My r