"What rhymes with ass?"
Somehow, it always happens in Islamic education.
I sit next to him, and I really enjoy talking to him,
No matter if I insult him,
No matter if I've spent 4 months not taking to him
Because of some bad joke he made about feminism.
I sit next to him and we talk,
And if anyone had heard us, we would probably be called mad,
Of course we were.
We wrote songs together,
He played guitar and I sang,
But one of our favorite things to do was
Insult each other,
Give constant reminders about how much we hate each other,
Trying not to forget that for a reason or another,
We had always been in a Great War,
And that no matter how many common points we have,
We will always be in this war,
Paint on our face and weapons in hand,
And although I forget how it started,
I know that I wouldn't exchange this for nothing on this earth,
After all,
we were both born warriors.
YOU ARE READING
My loved ones; a journey.
Poetry“Perhaps one did not want to be loved, as much as to be understood” George Orwell.
