You're cursing me out about common courtesy.
Too mad to laugh about the irony.
Every week it's another little thing,
That causes you to go insane.
Later you give me money as a sorry,
God forbid, you actually talk to me.
You yell when I'm not ready yet,
To simply shrug it off and forget.
You never taught me how to behave,
Nothing with you is ever the same,
I've raised myself since age eight,
Your so-called "discipline" is a little late.
Hiding in my room, I'm thinking,
How often you scream about the small things.
This is the last straw, I know,
Soon I'll find a better place to go.
Comments
Parson Thru | June 21, 2012 - 20:14
Wish I'd had a Web-site like this when I was going through all that stuff. You have channelled your feelings really nicely into this poem. Nice one CM.
ContinuityMistake | June 23, 2012 - 00:56
Thanks, Parson! :) Writing is a really fantastic way to get out frustration, isn't it?
Parson Thru | June 23, 2012 - 08:24
It sure is. Beats banging your head against a wall! Keep that pen and paper handy. Just read it again this morning. That first line is a great hook. Love the undulating intertwining of the sounds.
ContinuityMistake | June 23, 2012 - 08:34
Definitely! Thank you for your feedback, I appreciate it. This poem was written pretty hastily, actually.