i didn’t get a im proud of you till six hours later.

i even talked to my own father & he said he’s happy for me..wut?

& you..don’t say anything.

i wrote that shit for you.

everything i write is about you..or for you

& i dont get a thank you?

a good job babe? or im proud of you.

EVERY SINGLE bloody game you win i tell you im proud of you..i tell you im proud of you for no bloody reason.

so i waited..and waited..and waited hours for you to say something. CAN I GET A GOOD LUCK SPORT?

THE FUCK YO!

im done writing about you flat the fuck out.

you don’t appreciate it, so. gtfo.

YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE!!! BWUAHAHAHA!

You didn’t even ask to read the poem, how about that!

Welppp..here it tis.

To write you something that will make the birds cry.

Something so deep & meanigful that metaphors get jealous.

& similies want to be us.

Pronouns envy the verbs.

You admire my every curve.

But you..you make the sun shine. & make a tigers roar sound like a purring cat. Touch of an angel..that just makes me melt.

I love you.