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A Poem?

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I walk down the stairs
Trip and fall
Ouch.
Forgot there were stairs there.

Crawling on my hands and knees
And my elbows (just to mix things up)
I look up slowly and see something
That leads to many descriptive adjectives in my mind.

It's a painting.
Of me fighting a bear in a loincloth.
"Why is the bear wearing a loincloth?",
I think to myself.

I slide over towards the couch to my left.
It's got a plastic covering,
Like old people often use,
Even though the couch itself is plastic.

Something's weird about this house.
It smells like saliva on someone's knee.
And that's a weird smell,
I know for a fact.

BOOM! Other onomatopoeias!
"What was that?", asks my ever-present mind.
Someone just threw a lightbulb at me.
IT'S THE BEAR.

And he's wearing a polka-dotted loincloth.

Not the most macho bear.
But it's always nice to see someone with comfort in their fashion choices.
But there's more important matters at hand.
First of them, defeating this bear in hand-to-hand combat.

I feign left, as he does the same
Same direction feigning? Awkward.
Enough of this philandering.
I begin to attempt a quick roundhouse kick.

He faints in fear.
Or was it a she? I don't want to generalize when referring to bear genders.
Anticlimactic, I know. But have you fought a bear before?
If your answer is no, don't judge me.

Loud and suspenseful music seems to be playing in the background.
As I walk away in the coolest way possible, I think
"Is this a dream within a dream?"
A man who calls himself Dicaprio says no.

OR IS IT?

No. It's not. But reality is still awesome for a bear-fighter.





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