I wrote this in college, and won a competition with it later through a small underground lit magazine. Basically, almost EVERYONE I knew at the time was into writing these horribly emo poems about how their life sucked, and how their mother didn't love them, and blah blah blah blah blibbidy blah. So I went in another direciton. Instead of an epic of self-hatred, I wrote about something that was truly worthless.
"Worthless"
It is frustrating How useless they are, For they cannot grab and They cannot hold And they’re not really Good for anything but Being my worthless little arms That aren’t good for anything. And it’s embarrassing that I can’t wipe The triceratops from my mouth.
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