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FAILURE

 


Labelling me as a failure,
while you stand so fly—
Did it not hurt when your father died,
and you rushed to marry your sister off?
But if you hurt me, does it matter?
My father is alive,
and I have no blood brothers.

Oh, so you were just a kid?
And who was I—Erin Brockovich?

You felt so cool, asking me—
"Have you not watched American Pie?"
Now you brag about tasting continental sides,
while calling me the one full of lies.

Telling girls how they’re tight,
how you’d want to do them
when you're high as a kite.
Did you really think you'd mess with me
and I wouldn’t bite?

"Are you asexual?"
"Are you not finding someone else to sleep with?"
Well, can you pass the phone to your mom?
I’m sure she’s too tired,
raising boys like you
while your father left
to have a heavenly fondue.

Failure? No.
That title belongs to the man
too afraid to look me in the eye.

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