A poem written in my angsty teenage years. Enjoy.
Go do this, go do that.
Temper temper. Relax. Don’t get mad.
Why are you here? Why didn’t you do that instead?
Breathe breathe, don’t get mad.
Do the dishes.
But they’re your dishes.
Go clean.
I’ve been working all day, you’ve been home all day – why didn’t you?
Go do this, go do that.
Temper temper, you’ll be fine.
Go pray.
I don’t want to.
Go dress.
I don’t want to.
Go clean.
Why don’t you?
Go.
Fine.
I’ll go. But who will clean, and wash dishes, and breathe more quietly, and tiptoe? Most importantly, who will you order around day and night?
Temper, temper.
