Tad late I suppose, those poems are hard to compose.
People (I think this is classified as a Rap, though I didn't do a chorus or write it like music)
I can never figure out why there are cliques
The ones that are full of spoiled chics
And other such kids
I suppose it is something kept under lids
A secret so well hid
That even I can't get in
Are they hiding their acceptance?
Am I unworthy of their presence?
I was told not to think in terms of others
Told to speak in terms of myself and a lover
Though what lover is there for an outcast?
A simple social reject who could never outlast
A conversation with a person of opposite sex
And even the solace I find in this text
Is dilluded by the dissipointment
Of my appointments
what is wrong with me.
Well maybe someone could tell me,
because all I see
Is a life where my enemies
Outnumbers my friendly company
where the people I am used to
Are lost to a world where the good is sailed through
And overshadowed by the evil.