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"Wow, she writes poems? She must be emo,"
The crowd laughed, boosting his ego.
"Just look at her, there, all alone,"
He took a picture with his phone.
"This'll be my new screen,"
Oh, I just want to scream.
I am not emo, I am simply me,
My name is Eris, as you can see.
Yes, I write poems, I'm proud to say,
But must you mock me everyday?
No? I thought not, and yet you do,
Tell me: why do you want me to be blue?
I hear those words you call me, behind my back,
And yet, I hardly feel under attack.
You're trying to be mean, to be cool,
But your "Swag" shirt makes you look like a fool.
You have a fohawk that looks stupid as can be,
And you've even "accidently" spilled tea on me.
You're selfish, a jerk, and just plain rude,
You always try to ruin my good mood.
You appear "hot" to some girls, I know,
But you're nothing more than a foe.
I hate the way you talk about me,
I can't understand - can't you see?
We're not that different, two humans on earth,
We hate being sad, preferring to have mirth.
We both laugh a lot, and smile as well,
But, honestly, what else is there to tell?
My name is Eris, and I'm tired of what you do,
I'm sorry that you hate me, but I'm through.
Say what you want, think what you will,
But I'm going my own way - deal?
Good-bye and good riddance, I wish you farewell,
I'm on my own path, my heart beginning to sail.