Is it even the weekend if I don’t imagine myself as someone else with a opposite but symmetrical personality in a parallel universe that is also a Molly Ringwald movie sidekick of sorts.
My Problems are Worse than Yours
–by Becky WTGH
You wanna know how I know?
I just don’t give a single shit about your life,
I have zero respect for your opinions.
I am not curious about your well-being,
I don’t even care about mine!
that’s how little I give a shit about any of it
My opinions or my being(s)
I just want you to know that my problems are worse than yours.
It’s like, my thing right now.
It’s what I’m all about.
I don’t know much else, to tell the truth.
For sure I know one thing–
If you try to help me,
I will push you away.
If you point something out about my problems that I missed,
I will internally combust.
There will be nothing of me left.
Blown to smithereens,
from the inside out.
A pile of dust, somehow still disappointing.
Surprising and disgusting, but yet
Somehow, still unrecognizable.
Oh, by the way.
you’ll be gone, too.
Caught up in my explosion,
Doomed by association.
It’s quite simple really.
My problems are worse than yours!
You can’t help me.
I can’t help me.
Nobody could, nobody should.
If my problems resolved,
what would we have to talk about?
If I was simply happy, simply gay,
what would make you stay?
What left is there to say,
when my problems are gone,
and you are sitting there.
Would I have to listen to you, instead?
Oh god. I’d rather be dead.
listening to all the nonsense in your head
straight from the fucker’s shed.
Why risk it?
Go ahead, shut up,
Buckle up, and prepare–
to listen to MY problems.
if I had to listen to yours,
I’d rather chop-off my own head.