Little Miss Misery Poem by Kevin Patrick

A scion marked from Old Lizzies Hand
Collar trim, with an axe potent grand
Butcher sister, to Mrs Kotche’s intellect
Calculate the sums of the souls she collects,
Dear misery, your charade is an annulled
Vacate to the dirt, from the dump where you crawled
I tried to be negotiable but you never let me in
No pacifist’s consideration for your reptilian skin

There’s no smile for that girl,
Troubled Lizard with hair fizzled
Wears T-shirts and sweat pants
To show that she’s not that
Reclines in her chair, with an esteemed heir
Corpulent paranoid, when her retina’s not there
Charades equality for camaraderie
Though it’s full of bull diplomacy
Liberalisms Pravda shoes
to keep her fascist soles clean
Plays the punk chick with finesse
though she’s a Victoriana niece
Behind every red Guevara, is jackboot in marked in lead
Please Mint her cyanide to clear the cobwebs in her head

Waved the white flag and she crucified me
Gave a solemn reprieve to my free munificence
And shot me with that look as if I were a dollar crook
Who had stolen a china doll or maybe took her sea shell
That she traded as a child in a game of show and tell
With the cousin who fouled Her Innocents for jezebels
And turned the page of requiems to the road of desolation
Reserved a dagger for those who dared to challenge her convections

Days are the weights,
to the girl who’s a stone
An anchor, from a banker
who’s assigned a bad loan
From times jurisprudence
that makes gallows seem fair
When you’re tied to the clocks
Near those you with rotten stairs
For Several weeks our paths crosses
against the will of my intuitive trust
As I stood in the back, into the far away corner
Never uttering a remark
and as silent as a sea lark
Until the day had come
With False confidence renewed
When I drew down my guard,
To line myself within the pact
But right through her gaze
Knew that the odds were all stacked

And through her flatulent impatience
And disregard with proper diligence
She took every moment to belittle
My little quirk’s for her hoarseness
Screeched at me with her period
As I attempted to make notice
The program of due process
For my teachers civil practice
Her shout drowned out my faith
And rescinded my compassion

I turned ashen as a man
Condemned to his gulag
For one attempt to escape
The crystal palace of solace
Unto the breach, of social treaties
Which are cancelled by her kind
To inform me I have no value
To the credentials of this race

So I sit with sleepy tolerance
Watching her with trepid caution,
As a bomb that menstruates
Gripped to happiness that’s ration
Or a canker that hankers
For a tumor to Lactate
The shawl she uses to comb
Her matron’s solemn requiem
The sad tale of her existence
That I’ve painted through observing

She can frolic in a coven
But a boy she’ll jump an oven
In hospitality and etiquette
Perpetuate with forged respect
In her legions with her sisters
Fit to wear her values bared
In Cosmetics, and aesthetics
Shopping malls and better diets
But I see her confidence escape
With mention of another man
And I witness from her closet grief
That she does not have the proper teeth
To consummate inside the pen
With all the other mascara hen
In that esteem we are kindred
For admiration of all female kind

She’s a daisy picked from a mortuary
Never really shines to the plain and ordinary
Subdued sincere with a coated iron grin
Make a welcoming handshake on her chin
With grey corpse eyes that burn cold coal
Steal frieze cheeks with an engrained mole
With a Granite voice to emaciates a choir
Bull monotone to make your hearing aid expire

Happiness is foreign, an allure that’s alien
Its Romance with narcotics, and
And Mr. Carol’s White Rabbit
Make for nasty misbehaved habit

She can tantalize a smirk
When running in the murk
Of the grief she concocts
From another moribund Epoch
Only through the cloud
Of the lining in the shroud
Does she copulate delight
Under the ottomans free kite
Down the tunnel of a spell
Of the bandits wishing well
To Be a Caterpillar’s Darling,
and a mattress for his friends
When she’s flying on the carpet
And there creeping in her attic

Through the faux pass of a cold stain of roses
She volunteers service for their inescapable corpses
And grows ever bolder to remorseless dead-end
Charged chickenpox for trade to give all her friends
And gladly peel from the wings of butterflies hides
Holding onto a smirk that would make a rodent cry
Providence of fortune bind reeds this myopic maiden
From the memory of sunlight, this drowse scheming Raven

Through careful observation
When I stalk her through my view
Is that she’s made of ball of pudding
Which makes her confidence a shrew
Like a balloon stitched with skin
That expands with every chin
All her curves have been negated
Into a depths that’s elongated

When she walks it’s with grinding
Of two pungent drumsticks Riviera
In sweatpants that are fighting
The battle bulge of her derrière
Where some women reek excitement
In the luggage that they carry
With feminine sensuality
And excitement in their body
This sad little creature
Is unable to make a label
The good use of her stable
With fresh smiles or fair nature
And lives to suffer at her table
Eating scorn and biting teeth
The venom that she squirts
That states she hates the world
Because of all these bitter things
You are my little misery

She always leaves the class
With such theatrical mask
Its artificial animation,
Inside vulgar connotation
There are fairies in her body
Who control every function
Accept her bowls for the stuffing
The little maggots in her stockings
That Act as spokes for her machine
And keep her spitefulness all clean
Respiration, to maneuver
The mademoiselle aluminum
Whose reflex is as sturdy
As a Bushmen with a Machete
When decapitates without mercy
Under the pretence that there’s no concern

A Beige matron in the cake dress of gloom
I hear your adidas drum the walk of doom
So if you passed a hallway somberly
It means the dragons passed away quietly
Her obese furnace consumed every Oreo
With the dog that plugged her orifice stereo
Contentions her profession with splendor of a shrew
Now keep her laces mended or she’ll be a wires lunch

Take this my sweet affecionate pig