You told me I had better not commit my thoughts to paper
When it comes to you
When it sheds a poor light on you
Like I give two fucks about what you want, or might think of what I feel.
I decided that nothing would make me happier than writing
All of the shit that could possibly piss you off.
Maybe twice, we’ll see how I feel tomorrow.
I am fairly certain that’s called audacity,
I ought to know, punk bitch, I’m the Queen of all fucking things audacious.
I don’t write to make you happy.
I don’t write to make you look one way or another.
I write the way I feel about the shit that happens and if you wanted to look like someone different, you should have been someone better at the time.
Or at all.
But you weren’t, and it’s not my fucking problem.
None of this is, actually, it’s just some drama I don’t need
And some headaches I don’t want
And you can do with that whatever you will because I can’t give a literal fuck.
I mean, maybe I could.
But I don’t.
In summation, I said don’t ever tell me what I will and will not say
Not about this, you, me, us, them, nada.
Now take your fucking seat in the back row
Alongside the rest of the bitches waiting for me to give a fuck about what they think of me.
Hope you brought something to read.
It’s gonna be a long fucking wait.
That’s how you get down?