I never published this to deviantart because I felt that anyone nice enough to look at my stuff probably didn’t deserve to be exposed to the full force of my disgust. 

This is one of three, maybe four poems that I think of as personal development markers. Once in a while I’ll write something that just so perfectly sums up how I’m feeling that I rely on regular readings of it to calm myself down. I know I’m reading myself, but it’s soothing to pretend someone else understands until I calm down enough to talk to real people about what’s up.

On Loathing is easily one of my favourites, and the most fun of any to recite.