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Shakespeare was a Bastard

Shakespeare, you dick;
Look what you’ve done
I’ve gone physically sick
From the romance you spun
 
And I can’t break away,
There’s no chance to hide
A modern day Hamlet;
I can’t seem to decide.
Though of course every answer
Begets suicide
 
And that’s your fault too,
You sick little man
Your exaggerations
Are where my issues began
 
I can’t take a full step
Or sip lightly at strife
Without thinking on Yorik
And the fragility of life
 
Not every idea begets monologue
Eighteen stanzas long
On why we’re no better than dogs
 
And there’s no ideal woman,
And no perfect men
Yet you struck this idea
Into our children
 
And we go searching for it
Without stopping to think
Since when was this Shakespeare
My personal shrink?
 
What does he know
About the tumult of life?
All of his creations
Met the end of the knife
And when you think back on how they all end
That blade, really, was their only friend.
 
And that’s not realistic
Yet you made us believe
In the dark and sadistic
Falsehoods that you weaved
 
So what I’m trying to say
To Mr. Shakespeare
Is that you are a bastard
Let me make that clear.

(2013)

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