another "poem"

this is another poem i wrote on a day my mother struck me for my poor marks.


words cannot spell the emotion in my heart,
rembrandt cannot give color to its flame,
etna is just a pop-lolly in par,
cos such is the anger beareth that i.

why is that i freaked upon this world,
why am i becoming the odd man at the end?
why is it that i am such perditioned,
why did you mother, bring me forth?

bless as you do with your love,
torture me you so with thy eyes,
thine words are like lava in heart,
a slap is thus therefore an intolerability.

you have not the hurt the physical of me,
i am built as the hardiest ox,
but unfathomed is the dent in my soul,
the instance you endeavored to strike me.

forgive me mater, i teared you,
curse me mother, i pained you,
smile mother , cos you win yet again,
thine goal is reached, thy son shall study,
but he hath morphed by you.