Uncouth and brilliant,
At times incredibly rude,
Kerouac, was self-actualized,
Appearing to the public, as crude.
He was so full of raw emotions
Created by catholic guilt,
He dared to fight learned tenets,
Finding peace, in the books he built.
He hated everyone he loved,
Alcohol erased his shame…
He found love inside the margins,
Where his feelings had no name.
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