To This Poem, I'Ve Found The End. Poem by Michael Gale

My art teacher told me to knock it off...
I pushed everything off the table.

My mother told me to watch it...
So i stood up and walked over to the mirror and looked forever more.

My mother would keep on hitting me..
She would then gouge big chunks of flesh from my arms.

She hurt me...
I'd prefer her dead.

In wood shop...
I exclaime-Oh how boring.

Kill the cur, that dog...
Cannot, i await her end.

Why would her continue to offend? ...
To this poem, i've found the end.