I had just been reading a few poems by angst-ridden teenagers who had low self-esteem and they were pretty entertaining so I decided to deliberately focus on my bad points for a while and see what I could come up with.
Pretend Low Self Esteem
November 15th 1998
Stephen Clark
If you don't do it now, then you'll never do it
What? It's not even relevant anymore
It's so far into the future -- the past -- whatever
So what is it? The weekend? I don't even remember
They told me to write a poem for you
O.K. and I have to do it before dinner
And I'm already late for that
And I only had two hours sleep last night
So here's the poem:
Diary sucks my skin too much
Leaflet shields it from the touch
Oily hands on empty white
I may not touch the page tonight
Or else it will turn into plastic
A writing surface not fantastic
And underneath the page, we see
Another paper shield, and he
Who takes it out will soon regret
For when removed it soon will let
The coloured pencil go astray
And wander into yesterday
No way to write a diary, this
Like walking next to an abyss
Routine could not get any tighter
It gives me cause to hate the writer.
And did you know, that the most entertaining poem
Is one that puts the poet down
Self deprecatingly
So here goes:
Stephen, your life is a joke
Stephen lives alone in his pig-sty
Eating and breathing his own filth
Crawling around in the muck
He hates everybody
He stays away from people
Stephen, though harmless-looking
Is actually a cold-blooded killer
He worships death and wants to die
He wants to prevent others from living
Don't take him near your children -- he'll kill them
He kills pets and robbers
Stephen is supposed to die
While he's alive he's stuck
Doing the same things over and over
He's lived too long and his life is going nowhere
He's a parasite on society
Never done a decent day's work in his life
Always has everything thrown at him
Never throwing anything back
Stephen wanders up and down the beach like a moron
Always looking for the wrong thing
You know that he only likes to speak gibberish
'Cause his brain is screwed up bad
And he goes round in circles
Never learning, never changing
You know he hates us all
And we hate Stephen
The antisocial wretch
He doesn't deserve our attention
May as well let him die
He'll never give us anything, either way.