WhippedA Poem by Jamie4thewinMy friend said that because I spent a lot of time with a girl - I was instantly whipped. I decided to completely overkill the situation by writing a poem about it.
You may mock me here and now,
You may use your words to cast me down, Cruel taunts designed to cut me back, Again and again the verbal attack. You say that I am not a man, That a girl controls who and what I am, But I say nay, I am who I wish to be, I am myself, The one, Jamie. You make the movements, and laugh aloud, Attempting to please, the convivial crowd, And they laugh back, like the sheep they are, Mulling about 'neath the gathering stars, They then sit, pointing and staring, Pushing to the point where I start caring, I sit grim faced, looking back, Firm like the ocean 'gainst the personal attack, Yet again; You fail to understand what I contrive to be, I am myself, The one, Jamie. The whip slams down, and the less you see, Yet I am not the one attempting to appease, The woman and children, the men and the friends, Searching for means, at my expense, to mend, The broken friendships, laying torn at your feet, Their ended lives reaking of defeat. So now you claim that I am "whipped," Yet I stand tall against said quip, For I am not the one going with the crowd, Using the same poor joke, again and aloud, Hoping to touch some old fraying nerve, A notion long thought by me, absurd. So I care not for what you spit, I am not the one changing my self to fit, With the consensus of the growing tide, The opinion of the teenage lives. Your words fail to make contact with me, For it is not my fault that you now see, Ridicule where none is there, Say your joke, and flee my stare. Again you say that I am "whipped," Still I sit, calm, careful not to flip, For my personality is a constant, And I will not change my mind, I will forever, be the same, But you, Sir, can make no such claim. © 2013 Jamie4thewin |
StatsAuthorJamie4thewinHereford, Walterstone common, United KingdomAboutI knew a simple soldier boy..... Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum, With crumps and.. more..Writing
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