I fucking hate poetry. What I hate more than fucking poetry is being connected to my fucking feelings as I fucking feel them. In a “situation” (note the quote/unquote), I have no fucking feelings. It is not until a few days later when I process my fucking feelings and react to them. The unfortunate part about this is that three days on is usually too late to respond accordingly without looking like a psychopath who has been festering in a remote log cabin writing manifestos. Which of course I am, but I don’t want to appear as such.
So what does this have to do with fucking poetry? Nothing.
So what does this have to do with fucking poetry? Nothing.
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