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Once I happened upon a callow young lass,
Who apparently thought that it was cool to be crass.
And she turned her tongue upon the profession of writing;
Apparently she felt that it was in need of a smiting.

Though her raving and ranting made very little sense,
She seemed to be taking a rather harsh stance.
Apparently her pain was too great to be understood,
Far beyond the comprehension of this man from the hood.

So I stood there in swagger, clad in my bling.
While she behaved like 'Moon-Moon', in search of a thing.
She spouted some nonsense, some far fetched line,
About never idolizing the keen writer's mind...

...Aaaaaalrighty then,

If that is the case, then why ape my technique?
Why submit to several galleries; is your brain on the leak?
You are writing to be seen; you seek attention as I do,
What are we if not performers, is that not true?

Did you believe that you could use your past as a shield?
It counts, I'm afraid, for nothing, I feel;
For you see, I'm a killer, as bold as I dare,
I care not if you scream or if you tear out your hair.

And if you are offended, I'm sorry I swear.
I was under the impression that your soul was bare...

...Now if you please my dear, it's quiet time I beg,
Or should I quoteth the Griffon and say, "Shut up Meg."

-Chen Yuan Wen, 24th July 2013