Poor little notebook
shoved aside
until it's time
for me to hide.
Then I run
between your pages,
I yell, I kick, I cry.
This time I
wont make it.
I hurl the rage
between your lines.
I spit and laugh
and fight
the urge to whine.
You never protest
never say a word
just lay below
my sharpened pencil
and take the beatings
the scourge.
Until I run out of things to say...
Copyright 2005 blood stained oppression
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