Jube jube’s first poem.
Red Shirt Clan: The red shirt clan does not require explanations..
Blue Shirt Clan: Neither do we.
Why do I wear this shirt? What does it mean? I wear this shirt because I want to. It represents power. It’s my way of saying “I’m better than you.” If you mess with me, you mess with the entire red shirt clan. Yeah, I know I’m bad, but the red shirt brings out the worst in me. Scratch that, and backtrack onto my arch enemy.
The blue shirt clan – wipe the blood onto the cloth and walk away from the videogame themed anime scene. The district of alertness, critics of purpose, drink fire whiskey and bickering bourbon. Do not judge us from the garments we wear upon our backs – or from the first impression that your left brain processes seconds after your second serving of meatball stew – spilled down that new collared shirt.
The National Anthem of the Clan
The red shirt clan, we are here.
All we do is beat up queers.
You mess with us, we kick your nuts,
And now you know true fear.
We are a travelling circus. We sit on our horntoad bosoms and wave our torches at the bare bellied ogres of Warhead mountain. “I control what comes in and out of your throat.” says the leader of carbon dioxide intake.
Whenever you battle yourself within, we are there. Whenever you cry after spilling spaghetti on your navy collared shirt, we are there. Though we track your every movement from the system of threads we abide by, we are not stalkers, we are the red shirt clan.
So hide your children in those second rate bomb shelters..
(Like they’ll save you, anyways)
FOR THE BLUE SHIRT CLAN IS HERE.
In : Poetry