Rude.

I like being called rude. Here's why!

I like it when people call me rude,

It’s weird, I know.

It makes me happy when they say my language is crude,

You see, there are reasons behind it that I’ll never forego.

 

The younger me was foolish, you see,

He never stood up, he’d always flee.

He’d let others talk and never impose,

People he called friends, he’d never dispose.

 

You see, he respected all those he came across,

For people he cared about, he’d never turn away from a loss.

He’d let them make fun of him,

For them, in deep waters, he’d swim.

 

But he never expected anything in return,

You see, he wasn’t built that way.

He was built to love but never be loved.

He tried finding it in deep caves and high hills,

But all he ever got was cold chills.

 

He realized this one day.

“I’m going to change” he decided.

The very next day, he’d no longer pray,

He said “I’ll stay like this till my hair turn gray”

I’m rude is the message he wanted to convey.

 

“But why?” You ask.

“For him to change it must’ve been quite a task!”

I agree with you stranger,

He was well aware of the dangers.

He knew he’d lose a lot of friends,

It’ll be as if the book had multiple but similar “The Ends”,

But let’s be honest,

We all know nice guys finish last,

We all know he never gets the girl,

We all know he ends up with nothing to lose,

And isn’t that exactly what we’re all afraid of?

 

So here I am, with nothing to lose,

But I think all that’s about to change,

I turn my ear away from the blues,

And rude words are all I’ll ever exchange.

 

And that my friend is why I’m rude,

That is why my language seems crude,

It still makes me happy to hear you hate me,

Because at least that way I’d have my life to lose.