Oh, that Evan *wipes away tear* He's such a card!

So I finally finished with the damn poem. Comments and criticism welcome, as my ego is too large not to be worried about, but not yet too large to feed.

There once was a small child named Enis
who had an over-large
backpack.

So large, he had to wheel it down the halls.
Nerdy, he was afraid of being kicked in the
knee.

Enis was very good at math, easy was determining the sum.
When he took a Calc quiz, the taste of victory was sweet as
laffy taffy.

The pretty girls teased him with great sarcasm
but he like them. Thought he "I should like to give them a great big
bouquet."

He hated gym class. In football, he was told to punt.
He tried his best, but kicked a girl in the face. She called him a
doofus.

His teammates yelled at him to pass
but he became frustrated when he hit the goth kid in the
shoulder.

At his mistake, the kids erupted in jeers
rocking his frail body
which spouted tears
this all made him feel very shoddy.

"He's so square he's a cube!
I bet he's never before," sneered one boy "seen a
football!"

And Enis sat down on the grass. He cried,
his hands, he felt, had been tied.

"I can't do anything right,
I really, really suck.
I've got nothing going for me!
Man, what a
loser!"

One of the girls
who had before been like ice
brushed back her curls
knelt down, trying to be nice.

He ignored her and stood up, his feet planted on the ground,
Enis really could take no more.
His mind was no longer sound.
"Shut up, SHUT UP!" he ranted and swore!

The throng was stunned, he had never fought back!
His words then affected them, like a fist to the
ankle.

He shrieked at the boy"You're just a stupid twit!
I bet you've never seen a
quantum algorithm!"

And the bullies stayed silent, the knew not what to do.
Who was this standing in front of them, who?

And over the vast empty sports fields he began to run.
Kicking turf up behind him, gout after gout,
speeding under the blazing sun,
He gave those kids something to think about.

That it's not how you kick or pass
or to the masses yield,
but, after you've gamed 'pon the grass
how you leave the field.