The End

Simply,

don't understand.

No, they...

don't think I have plan?

Yes, they treat me...

like a child.

So, I'm spicy—

they're all mild.

What, a blog?

To them...

that's wild.

Poems...fill their mouths...

with bile.

Poison posts?

No, they're just rivals.

Not to me...

no,

to survival.

Tryna push back...

my arrival.

I've arrived—

there's no denial.

When every post...

becomes a trial.

When no one answers...

On speed dial.

96k hits?

Astounding.

Never dreamed...

I'd do a damned thing.

Now, I'm so close.

I've stopped counting.

Stop the Facebook spam—

I'm ranting...

They don't get me—

they don't try to.

Just another strange, opaque...

Jew.

Doesn't matter—

Soon, we'll leave school.

It won't matter—

If I look cool.

See,

There's more to life than looks.

Just ask Zoolander—

Read books.

Read books good,

Bad...

Ugly, too.

To learn...

A thing,

Or perhaps two.

To see...

A different point—

Of view.

Step into...

Someone else—

Their shoes.

Sometimes, they win.

Sometimes, I lose.

This time—

This, it comes as news.

Few months, now,

I've just hit snooze.

Actions—

I’ve still got to choose.

Circumstance—

A path, a move.

Usually it heals—

A bruise.

This one’s festering—

A wound.

The end is nigh—

The winter’s come.

Jon Snow’s not here—

Manning the wall.

I love to talk—

it’s my downfall.

But, writing—

That’s my song…my call.

To SPO,

I owe it all.

To Marky Mark,

I owe the blog.

To Mike,

My thanks, for those guest posts.

By the end, all mine stunk—

Burnt toast.

Alexi,

Thanks for being real.

For being roommates,

That’s the deal.

Last of all,

I owe a thanks.

A thanks that they think has no place.

Thank you…yes, you—

Yes, you again.

The one…I published—

No consent.

That act alone,

I must relent,

was grounds to…

never speak again?

That’s what they’d say.

But you’re different—

Yes, you’re okay.

Not scared to speak up,

You won’t shy away.

You know you have feelings.

You know what they say.

Do your best to listen—

they won’t go away.

Now,

At last,

comes a moment.

One we’ve all been awaiting.

One whose imminent nature…

Is hardly worth debating.

SPO was made for students,

And soon I’ll be one no more.

So, it’s time for one last swing.

Throw a left hook—rock their core.

I’ve said my piece—settled the score.

The consensus has spoken.

They don’t want anymore.

Now, I retire—

Retire from this.

Move on to do better—

Write poems.

Find bliss.

But, don’t think for a second, that you all won’t be missed.

I owe everything to you.

My outlet—

Your gift.