The Worst Kind of Funny
A sense of sickness washes
Over him as he sits alone;
Shunned by the world, he
Is all he will ever have.
His loneliness comes and goes,
Developing, maturing,
Feeding his unsatiable
Fear of abandonment.
People tell him he has been,
But he can never
Recall a time where
He was truly happy.
He looks to others
To try to mimic their
Smiles, to fit in,
To get the joke.
But the truth is
He is the joke,
A sad punchline, a
Sour sense of humor.
His inability to fit,
His incapable hands
That falter in their quests,
He will always be the worst kind of funny
This poem is about:
Me