You’re a…

Wait. I cannot say that word,

What word?

That word I dare not mention.

That word that sits quite fluidly,

In the oft orated

But apparently draws attention.


That’s what you are.

Well, twice if not thrice that.

The word I want to call you,

The synonym does rhyme with cat.

Or that.

Or Fat Pat Sat Flat on a Mat!

But you.

You are that.

For years I’ve let you grasp,

And strangle,

And exasperate my psychology.

You’ve taken root,

In the deepest corners,

Cast doubt,



Questioned where I fit

Within this whole chronology.

But lo! No more.

Off you trot,

Bog off.

I’ll not apologise for being blunt.

The hold you have over me

Is over, no more.


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