why do you make me mean today?
I'm thinking things I should not say,
and I know that, but do anyway.
Just as a young, small child acts
or as said youth affects the facts
I, with my words, break my friends' backs
then help them up as my anger cracks.
I isolate me, feeling mad;
in isolation I feel sad.
I make my neighbors all feel bad
in false hope that they'll make me glad.
This hope, abandoned, I've redirected.
In writing this, hope's hope-corrected.
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