Samplings of my poetry and a short story

This is a poem about my Ganglion cyst, located on top of my right wrist. Written when I was 14 or 15 years old.

Ganglion Cyst
People are always asking about this bump on my wrist
How many times do I have to tell them it’s a Ganglion cyst?
Indians used to have them so you could say that they are tribal
If you think its ugly then just smack it with a Bible
When people started staring I’d slip it in my pocket
And just because it fit, I’d put it in my eye socket
I always joked that I was growing knuckle #6
But then Frony grabbed a Bible and took a couple licks
The procedure was painless, I didn’t feel a thing
Except for the Good Book and a mighty giant sting
Before I knew it one wrist was like the other
I missed it so much I felt like crying to my mother
What people called a deformity I called a gift
My little miracle was a boost, an uplift
Everyone was jealous though they claimed that they were not
It even helped me to improve my jump shot
So now that it’s dead and gone, I don’t know what to do
My jump shot has disappeared, but the gawking quit too
My eye feels naked without its protective shield
The Bible is supposed to save people, but to me it didn’t yield
It came crashing down with all its mighty force
It took my cyst away like taking glue from a horse
I’ve strived to grow a new one, I really have tried
But I’ll live my life cystless and Ganglion deprived.

This is a Shijo (Korean form of poetry) that I wrote. Inquire within for the translation:

떠나간 마음
마음이 떠나갔으니 이생에 가치 있나
눈물이 사라졌어도 흉터가 남아있네
새벽에 빛나는 해가 어둠에서 앞선다.

I wrote this a long time ago when I was in High School about a girl who was hitting on me while riding the bus home:

MCfilthy Experience
The load on my shoulders goes on the seat
I pull out my ears and prop up my feet
Losing myself and winding down, the bus rides away.
Bouncing behind me is a twisted leach throwing out her poison, trying to catch another stallion
I put down the cereal ice-cream as the leach tried putting the hook in
I ain't the fish to be caught, so get off the bus
Next rolling session and there's the filthy leach
Elaboration on her fishing poles and I nod, I nod my head while I'm complaining inside
The yellow mobile is where the leach attacks, I can take that.
But holding on a minute she's taken my arm
She's adding to her fish farm
She's the large mouth leach and filthy at that, if she says that again I'm gonna grab a metal bat
H + B is false
I'll write it on the walls
She tries playin with my mind, she gets so unkind, being blind, not knowing that I'm holding the strings.
She's a psuedo-empty bucket all melted inside, mad amounts of spoons and nasty house flies.
The filthy bus leach tried attaching to me, I burnt her off with a match but I still haven't got free.
The Argentine Chocolate growls loud at the parasite.
On the scheme of wheels I'll look into the light, excuse myself from the table and melt the spoon outta sight.

This is a two part story that I wrote during my leisure time as an Intern at LG Electronics:

Gilbert’s Tale
Once upon a time there was a fish named Gilbert, people just called him Bert for short (funny, I'd probably call him Gil for short, I mean, he is a fish, but anyway, that's what people called him) And Bert didn't read very well because when paper gets soggy it eventually disintegrates and gets to become a useless mess of pulpy matter. So Bert looked for stuff coated in plastic (or more commonly known to us landlubbers as 'laminated') However, poor Bert could only find menus from local restaurants that were plastic coated and all the local restaurants were seafood places and so when he would read them it was horrifying to him! So that is why Gil... I mean Bert didn't read very well, it gave him nightmares. So instead of reading Bert would practice the fine art of twirling sand into little funnel sand clouds on the bottom of the ocean floor. Then one day an otter saw Bert artistically expressing himself in the sand and ate him. Bert was only 3 weeks old.
Think that's the end of the story?
You thought wrong; Bert was a resilient little fella. So he twirled the Otter's innards right up into a beautiful array gut tornado and the Otter thought it was so wonderfully imaginative that he let Bert free! As a new man (or fish actually) Bert changed his name to Gil as was his destined fate to begin with and never had otter problems again. He then spent his days doing service in the underwater mental institution for marine life gone psycho. What a big heart.
The End :)

Gilbert at the Tute
Gilbert awoke suddenly to the sound of gurgled throat clearing. 6 hours at the Underwater Mental Institution for Marine Life Gone Psycho (UMIMLGP) or as Gil liked to call it, the Tute, and who wouldn’t be choking a throat gurgle? Well, Gil wouldn’t be and he wasn’t, it was the creature under his care sitting opposite of him. Gil had spent hours staring at this creature’s features. For example, the wrinkles surrounding his fins that seemed to be the lips on a catfish, screaming for help, “Please save me from this giant flapper thing that is moving back and forth crushing my lips! Mmmm, tastes kinda delicious.” This creature’s mouth was very small. Gil often wondered how he sang so well with such a small mouth. Gil had lots of time for wondering because he had such a good imagination. “My imagination is so good”, he always thought to himself, and by ‘always’ I mean every moment not spent wondering, using his imagination; which is why its so surprising that Gil got the UMIMLGP award for best diver/mental patient care facilitator. Not that he ever facilitated mental patient diving lessons, but that he was a skilled diver. Gil could often be found imagining himself diving deeper and deeper into the ocean, and then deeper. Sometimes he imagined himself diving shallower, but ne’er once had he successfully executed such a maneuver, even in his mind. The creature before him, under his watchful facilitated care cleared its throat again, this time minus gurgle, plus hacking wurple. Gil braced himself. The creature’s mouth gaped open wide, exposing his viciously jagged tongue. You see the creature had tried eating metal scraps discarded in the great deep only to realize that sharded metal disfigures ones tongue when its sharp parts are pressed too firmly against it as is a side effect of chewing. It also lost its one and only tooth in the process, thus rendering it insane and in need of mental facilitation. Fortunately the Tute’s finest mental diver was there to assist. There was a deathly silence post hacking wurple that caused Gil to ponder the vastness of the ocean and the depths of his wondering mind. He was doing an ocean of good at the UMIMLGP, but with his skills, he could be doing so much more than tending insane toothless fragmented tongued creatures with small mouths and a future in show business. No, he could be spending his time in much more meaningful ways, such as saving those wrinkled lips from delicious imminent and utter destruction. So Gil promptly swam head first into the creature’s fin rendering it paralyzed and aiding the imaginary lips. Then as the creature gathered its remaining forces of strength to retaliate Gil burst upward shallowly diving for the first time ever, up and away in a beautiful array of motion and lights and bubbles! He was on a mission; he was off to wonder no more where no fish hadn’t wondered before.