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 Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

I'll Tell Mom

The smell of syrup fills the air,
And I wretch with trauma
For last night cannot be forgotten so soon.
I'm going to go home and be stared at
And if looks could kill,
I'd wager my life savings
(which ultimately ain't that much)
That I would be dead.
I'm tired of tip-toeing around what they say,
Not being able to do what I want
For they are hogging the freedom.
I'll just get back at them in the only way I know how;
I'll tell mom.

*Just a poem to my dad and brother who think they can get away with making me feel like a big fat nothing, who have felt that wrath of mom and will incur the wrath of mom once more.

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