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The misanthrope

Irritation prickles on my skin like cactus thorns

Frustration with myself at rushing to another's aid

When I'm sure they wouldn't so much as bat an eyelid

To see me in pain

No wonder I'm a misanthrope

People are all about themselves alone

And I feel over extended, under appreciated and annoyed

A host of negative feelings that bound up in me

Like bubbles in a balloon

Bursting when coming into contact with another

I must calm down

This unreasonable tirade must reduce

To naught

Until it is replaced by a sense of peace

For that the best policy would be to mind one's own business

And avoid people completely.

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