I could tell you all about yourself,
careless,
selfish.
Your priority is very apparent;
its that “magic potion” they sell at the
bar.
Thats where the money goes.
Not toward your sons shoes,
or my school supplies.
Don’t come home to me and say,
“hi honey”.
The smell of the alcohol on your breath
sickens me,
almost as pungent as the smoke that floats
from your room.
You have that loud,
obnoxious,
ignorant opinion that you force everyone to listen to.
You’re just a man -- hardly --
that happened to end up a father.
You are nothing but a person who is legally responsible for me.
I could tell you all about yourself,
“daddy”.