Ohai, Poetry Scene, Miss Me?

i began to think in rhyme around the age of one
Aided by the impetus of Tweedledee and Tweedledum
Inspired by the nursery and the rhymes that it endeared
And the ghosts and goblins underneath my crib that I so feared

Left alone at birth but then I wasn't so much stranded
I see this from a feeling I have come to call abandoned
Everything I heard was lies, everyone waiting by the door to leave
And any form of happiness would be chance to grieve

But by the age of eleven I had picked a defter pen
And this sword I weilded broadly and with no regard for fellow men
But I learned it wasn't men who would regard at school my poetry
But the softer genre found in this a reason to look twice at me

Then I added six more strings to the pen that I now held
And some tasted lovely, some sounded great, some smelled
What ranks a voice that would ever seek a harmony
But words with mindful presence a misery with company

But boys wore leather then and mine was growing studs
And rather than books my heart was more to breasts and buds
And curly hair that I could forever wrap my fingers in
And forms of earthly pleasure my christian family taught was sin

But I endured as sinner even though I must come clean
At seventeen I snapped two cool fingers in a beat and was never...
Ever....Poetry Scene...or seen again...'til now.

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