Thirty poems in thirty days: DAY 8


More kicks than Jet Li
yet my hype is so weak
like an early decade pop song
with drum machine beat
They never told me I was born to shine
But told me I was born to cry
Born to whine
Like the squeals
from Farmer Old Mcdonald's swine
Swag is for dummies
and rocks are for honeys
And fitteds for those who fit too well into a box
to ever be considered rebels with a cause
the only place that style will bring us
is apathy.

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