There's a little cockroach on my floor.
He hides his feelings behind closed doors.
He has creatine, in his pores.

He goes to the mall,
shy in the face of women.
Rejected so often, he calls them all whores.
Anything to make him feel less small.

Frankly, he's a joke.
But he's a teenager so there may be hope.
Let's go ask the pope.
Let's go to church for advice.
The misogynist's favorite sight.
A man on a cross, better than their dad at least.
No, this kid respects his dad differently.
He learns the misogny, ignoring the casuality.

The boy grows big and tall.
Finally, girls blow up his phone.
Never respected his mother,
so the girls are treated as "others".

Just like that, the cycle continues.
But it's not this!
It's not that!
This poem is rubbish!

"You're just a weak man,
can't hold his liquor can."

"Be a man!"
"Be strong!"
"Don't write this garbage,
come live on the farm!"

That'll teach me.
Anyway, back to the preaching.

There's a BIG cockroach on my floor...

© DolorTheDaimone

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