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Anonymous
Fit feels thread
2015-11-29 21:51:33 Post No. 35080113
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Fit feels thread
Anonymous
2015-11-29 21:51:33
Post No. 35080113
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Hey guys I wrote this poem about life before getting shredded. Let me know if you relate to it.
The screen illuminated his wrinkled skin with a pale turquoise hue
emitting sporadically with different intensities from the face of the Television.
A lifetime of opportunities, given up in trade
a sideline lived life, a choice he had made.
What was it that settled him down
that nestled his frown and furrowed his brow.
That held him still and made him wait, did he have too much on his plate?
Or not enough, he blinks, yawns, and rubs his gut.
His wife was there, she would watch too.
Sometimes she walked and lived life through.
Helping me do the things a man would do.
She taught me all there was to know, that she knew.
From there came my interest, of not cars, boats, fishing, sports or woodwork,
however when i would work, it would be gardening, painting, writing and baking.
A boy was raised plain, like the flour he baked,
instead of fishing from a lake, he painted one,
or wrote about it on slate.
On saturdays, football was not optional,
he played the seldom respected defender,
watching his team win or lose,
regardless of what he did or how well he would do.
He couldn’t run fast, and only trained once per week.
I suppose it would help if he wasn’t raised by someone so meek.
The sidelines quickly became his home.
He gained weight and started to slow.
His footwork led to tripping himself, his kicks wavered,
and then instead of rostering for the next semester's season,
he pressed her to let him sleep in.
He knew how to talk to girls, but not to woo them.
As if that was an option, he was nothing to them.
A friend at most, a tool at least, nothing compared to the athletic beasts.
Who had fathers there, to push them ahead.
To make proud of, he had his mother instead.
Who said things like, you’re fine the way you are,
even though he was not, and he knew this.
cont.