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