i was born a poet,
though on the outside i do not show it.
i live just as a normal kid,
though when i ride my bike the tires leave a skid.
and when i kick the bullies mass,
his face will be lying in the grass.
the second i leave my house,
the poetry in my head becomes a mouse.
quiet as possible leaving no trace,
that way i can always ace.
that test that way i show,
theres reason to dodge every blow.
that the bully throws at me,
and i can hear his final plee.
is it innocent or guilty,
the teachers leave it up to me.
though the war may be won,
the death can be told son by son.
the guns be melted down into tags,
bodies be put into bags.
all after a country waves its one and only white flag.
hatred cannot be read,
by the words of those who dread.
you'll be sitting there gun in hand,
though you fear you cannot stand.
the western front nears end,
all in your favorite weekend.