Why is it my job
To help you raise your kid
You wanted the fucking thing
Either way, shouldn’t be my problem
But it is
Takes a village, my ass
Nobody raised me–
that was my job, too.
This village is run by gluttonous fools
Our “communities” are not.
They’re just not.
There is no village, we are all
Struggling cities in the
Rust belt waiting
Jesus to take the wheel
If not Jesus than a Cheeto will do
America, the home of the brave
You know what brave heroes are prone to?
Ditching their kids at home with some bitch
While they’re off saving some universe,
Something else more urgent, more pressing
Some narcissistic delusion of self-worth
No matter what you’re doing
Work is how you prove your pudding
And men are the ones who do
The real work, right?
So yeah, give your kid to that chick over there
Give her something to do
Sexism is exaggerated, right?
Something SJW’s made up,
Something for the them’s to play the victim about
Well, then wonderful
I’m selling my old soapbox,
And my protest won’t make the news.
If sexism is done,
Old hat, dead horse
Then let me speak freely about how much
Your kids were your idea, and I’m not
Some cunt who’s naturally supposed to
Like them and
Take care of them
It’s not selfish
To not have kids, and not want them.
It is selfish
To have kids
For your own selfish needs
Your own demands,
Your own ransom