She took my papaya.

Sickened by the favoritism bestowed

upon a selfish roommate for one day,

makes me angry that I could not

have that Papaya piece instead of she.

She always takes the melons, bitter

and water, and the oranges too

when people do not want theirs.

The one day I want papaya she

is offered it by my other roommate

and of course the Fat Pig always

says, “Yes I want it.”

Too bad for me, I guess.

I tell my other roommate that I am

angry at her for taking it.

Just then her best friend, our

roommate, comes out of his hiding

place where he has been listening.

So great, now he is going to tell

her for he loves to gossip.

Now I feel uncomfortable around

She and her best friend because

I don’t know if she knows yet

of my disgust of her fat assness.

I already told her I hate her singing

when I am trying to work

and she said “You hurt my feelings.”

Too bad you selfish Idiot.

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Comments (2)
  • Rinkal Desai on Dec 8, 2009

    u hate her , but i like ur poem…

  • TroostAvenue on Dec 8, 2009

    PB was that intended to be a poem or just journal prose in short lines, the period coming at the ends of lines only by accident?
    I tried several times and couldn’t get a poetic sound or rhythm out of it. Poetry needs a rhythm that this doesn’t seem to have.

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