Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

A man, with a catfish, slapped me across the face.
My cheeks turned red, my eyes filled with hate.

I asked the man with a catfish , "What was that for?"

 He said to me, "It's because of the cats, in a bag, I drowned out at the shore. You see they grew gills and fins, had to learn a new way of life.  Had to change who they are, just to survive." 

 I in turn said to the man with a catfish, "In land or in sea, these creatures are a disease. They need to leave my home country"

 The man with a catfish began to laugh, "Your country, dear sir? Surely you jest. These cats were here first. Your kind are the pest."

 My anger did flare, my hate did grow. How dare did he refer to me, as something so low. I am the prime of the stock, perfection of race. All other life compared to me, is just a disgrace. So I struck the man with a catfish and knocked him to the ground. I beat him till he bled, till he can no longer make a sound. I then looked at my hands, as red as they were, in that there blood, i watched the world burn.

 I know now today, The man with a catfish was right. I am the lowly pest, for i am filled with hate and spite.

      Everyone has the right to be.