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Rated: 13+ · Other · Other · #1984815
Another poem for my birth-father
Hey, Dad!
Oops, that’s not your name, Fag.
Sometimes I get mixed up and stuff
You left my brain filled with liquor and smut.
You already know that I fucking hate you and such
But I’ll be honest if I ever call; I hope you’d pick up.


It was only twenty-one years ago
You decided that you’d pack up and go
Leaving mom pregnant and feeling like a ho
So, she tossed me up for adoption
Now I’m in New York rockin’
And I don’t even fucking need you now
But regardless of that, anyhow,
I wish I knew if you even gave a fuck
But now I don’t know if I do
Give a single one about you, too.
I’m glad you left my life, see,
It gave me all this angst and creativity
It let m bear open my soul and show it
That I don’t need you in my life, faggot.
I’ll be honest though, if I ever called
Would you pick up the phone?
© Copyright 2014 Reno Strife (rocksteady at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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