I may abuse some substance,
But you’re a fucking hypocrite
And a terrible fraud.
Sometimes I might lie
About my whereabouts.
“But it’s okay,
My will is good.”
While I let ganja kiss my lungs,
Sitting cross-legged in the grass,
You sip Mojitos and Kalhua in the clubs,
Fucking on the couch downstairs,
Your moans as audible as the fucking sea.
So call me a bad person.
The person you don’t want me to become
Is the person that I am.
A lost cause, mother fucker.
So thanks for caring about me,
And reminding me that you love me
At unnecessary times.
It really made my fucking day.
But now, your words are feckless;
This girl that you called your beautiful daughter
Is the person that you hate.
And hey, I’m cool with that.
I know you think I’m a liar,
But that’s just because you’re too narrow-minded
To comprehend anything I suggest.
I know you’d hate me if you knew.
So I’m breaking the news
As I’m breaking the law.
When I’m guilty of overlooking your empty fucking morals,
I remember how you charred my lungs in the womb,
Puffing at a cigarette while some
Redundant,
Accidental
Fetus grew inside you.
With love,
Your mistake
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