On the outskirts of my mind she sat prudishly, my imagination

Ridiculed for her darkness, praised by its’ underlying genius.

The under taste of her efforts proved much sweeter than the fruits themselves

And though humbled, her pride rouged her cheeks and brightened her smile

With pigtails and yellow ribbons in her hair, she swung her feet aloft the cliffs of my frontal lobe and spun these words I now put to paper

An alter ego of my bizarre, seemingly plagued by the subconscious

A friend presumed by others to be but I

So beg to differ

So dare to challenge

To learn to use my own style

To learn to teach, mean while

You are perturbed by my use of no use of style, of genre, of the learnt that u have taught to me.

Of the learnt I choose to defy

This deviance that I am presently ridiculed for will be hailed after my death

And these truths I frequently put to paper, would have haphazardly found some depth