Diary of an Oxymoron (2)

scribble scribble, chomp chomp
crush the paper, throw it and upon it you stomp
the window pane has not been cleaned
the wrinkles on the jacket need be steamed
winter, oh you make me sad
its Confucius abode soon, for me be glad
tea is still hot
but only in the pot
you feel the wind slap your face
reminds you of the times you stood with grace
you are messy, you need accept now
don't worry for nobody will know what when how
truth or lie, you lay down your head
with ideas you learn and one you have been fed

scribble scribble, chomp chomp
baggages on you, you slowly tromp