Historical Fiction Poem

I believe in a thing called "history,"

Rather magical-repeating.

Multiple mistakes made, how fun

The problem source must be someone.

I love to think that in their glee

Reality comes crashing, thanks to me.

Though I lose, I manage victor

Because my words make them sicker.

Right words, silent gestures, tilted eyes,

The beauty is I need not cry;

For I am rubber, steel and glue

Tougher, stronger, stranger than you.

I am not a simple shelf product:

Rare, lucky if you've caught it.

Might I be too strange for common tastes?

I am led to believe such is this case.

So while I wait patiently,

Despite the actions done to me,

(Inconsiderate they may be)

I scream, tear the ceiling violently.

You sit back: sad, guilty

Is that what I want out of thee?

Apparently...no