Poems by Me

Fuck You

Just because you call yourself an artist,

That gives you more power,

Call others stupid, to make yourself seem like the smartest,

Your ego standing high, high as a tower,

But the most famous tower is Leaning.

You demand respect, but give nothing back-

Say that all art has a reason, but if all life is art, then tell me what's your meaning?

Since your an Art teacher, I'll give you a performing act,

Doth thou read my lips, when I tellest thou to fuck thineself?

Oh sorry, you only know how to draw, nothing to do with the Fine Arts.

Such a pity to waste supplies on yourself,

I'm free to sound as mean as I want, because fortunately, you haven't a heart.

But my, may I say what raw talent you have,

Truely the first mark of man,

By "raw," I mean prehistoric, your taste is dead, leave it be in it's grave.

You know that none of us really give a damn?

You make me want to vomit at every narcissistic word you spit,

Talking blah, blah, blah,

Another lesson in your wrong information, all the wrong shit,

Hmmm, nah,

I think you should drop the performance,

I bet you secretly smoke a bong when no one's looking.

To help your drunk, half-assed self out, read this correspondense;

A bird can mean many things, but to put this pussyfooting,

A finger, a bird, and a phrase means all the same,

And same to be,

Read my digits, or make like a photographer and turn it into a frame,

I mean to tell you, Mr. Hippie,

Fuck you.