We've all got those memories too horrendous to recall...
Those moments that are your biggest downer, your lowest fall.
Mine is a story almost too sad to be told-
And it happened when I was just fourteen years old.
No, it was not the time when I called to the teacher
"Oi, Miss!' When the teacher was, in fact, a mister.
It wasn't the time when I saw my 'Dad' on the street,
Gave him a hug, only to hear a cough so discreet
That it made me glance up, and my horror to find
A man who looked alike, but wore glasses for the blind.
Him calling 'who's there?' (It is my shame to tell
That I simply ran away, without wishing him well.)
And also, it was not the time when I shed a tear
When I saw a board rubber and thought it was 'Mia'
The mouse, from the class project, and I ran to her side
Then, of course, with atable I fail to see, I collide.
My cheeks burn in shame as I impart with you
The whole class saw my knickers. (And the fact I was wearing two.
It was chilly outside, and Mum wanted me warm).
No, no, this memory in my mind is like a greivous storm.
I was only fourteen, I want you to remember
When this fateful incident occurred on that afternoon, late december.
You see, I was simply chilling in my room
In my stupid head, there was a thumping tune.
It made my toes tap, and I found myself humming...
Then next thing you know, I was hop, skip and jumping
Up on my bed, blasting at full volume
That wonderful, exciting, and deadliest tune.
Screaming it! (Of course, I thought it was good and loud)-
I whipped off my jumper, swinging it around.
Turning around, I suddenly noticed
My friend, my dastardly friend, Trish.
She brandished her phone, recording my show...
I turned bright red, she knew I'd hit a new low.
I'd been serenading my hairbrush, all in the wrong key:
I suppose you think this is the worst thing happened to me?
That's where you're wrong, that just where it started
Because once Trish had that video, I knew I'd been martyred.
But not for a cause that was righteous and good...
She wanted to put our mate Katie in a good mood.
(You see, Katie had been in some trouble with gossip-
Check out the other poem, it's got all about it!)
Anyway, she sent it to the contact of whom
She'd assumed was Katie. She'd sealed my doom.
For instead, the cow had sent it to Jim- yes, Jim...
The one I was sure I loved, 'it should be me and him'.
But that bastard- that bastard!- thought it would be best
To make the video viral, and everyone could jest
About your poor 'why is the rum always gone'-
Their terrible taunts have haunted me for quite long.
It is them who know of my dastardly dancing
And singing, and jumping, and skipping and prancing.
For weeks I was known as 'that-singing-girl-
Who-can-neither-sing-nor-dance'. And I'd sigh. Oh well.
Now, dear Booksiers, you know of my sad times
I'm unloved by Jim, and stuck here, finding rhymes
To my bad experience. (And Trish? She tries to be matey,
And console me, by telling me we did cheer up Katie.)
© Copyright 2016 whyistherumalwaysgone. All rights reserved.
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