Pissing people off

A while back I had the distinct notion that I can, by accident, piss people off simply because I don’t do what they expect or because an attempted manipulation of theirs fails.

I then sense bile, aimed.

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Here sat in the stocks of life

How much cabbage

How much bubble and squeak

Must I wear?

 

A pin cushion Voodoo dolly

Punctured with ire

And ruptured by spleens,

The ever unforgiven

 

How many barbs from the barber

Shaven into my scalp

With a pedestal around my neck

Drowning in expectation

 

How many broken plates of disdain

Thrown at me in rage?

How many pebbles in the Groyne

Thrown by a relentless tide?

 

This blotting paper me

An emotional punch ball

Absorbing all the ink

Of words thought and unspoken.

 

To take each ounce of ill

And let it pass over and through

And to try, yes to try

To turn it into flowers

 

How much, how many?