true facts.

the motherfucking catholic guilt trip. psycho bitch mom loves to play this card
it's a quick talk with the others but me it's heated, never-ceasing
never-ending like Rapunzel's hair
raised eyebrows yield a withering stare
yeah fuck her she makes me feel selfish
even though i distinctly said i don't want nothing for christmas
she better be at work on my birthday, that's all i'm saying
on christmas she always nit picks to find a reason to bellow like a banshee
and at me strictly
this morning it was 'cuz i didn't have anything for her and dad
then i made something and she got more mad
called it thoughtless, last minute
at least i put some effort in it
either way, i lose the game
too bad tomorrow's fucking sunday
love's to be seething
go 'head bitch keep on believing
that i'm vindictive, self-serving
please, you dont know the life lessons i'm learning 
you don't see at school
living, breathing the thoughts i'm receiving
outside looking in, your perception's warped
almost afraid to go to sleep
her with a dagger at my throat saying my life was a dream
my birthday's no cop out, then she harps too
last year was doing math till i grabbed a bottle and a glass
just kidding, i only sipped white wine once by myself in my kitchen
no one was home and i was feeling ambivalent toward life
there's some champagne in a red cup next to my bed
i should gulp down the remaining drops before the pillow cushions my head
but i need to finish downloading kanye to my ipod
what the fuck am i gonna do now, bitch?
she's FUCKING SKILLED AT GUILT TRIPPING
WISH I WAS ACID TRIPPING
new year's eve we're rolling b's, sipping sizzurp and the like
if i'm lucky mom and dad won't be breathing down my neck
so uptight, overanalysis of my life
fuck this shit, i dont need this
the guilt sunk in like a rock in a deep river
instantly plopping to the bottom, heavy hitter
smack dab to the sand, after we hear a splash
fishermen are mad
the guilt's her dream
crazed like a raging inferno
and a fucked up maniac, escaped convict
it's her bliss, i dont get it---sorry
she doesnt know half the shit about me
out of her mind, it's still christmas time 
i'll start writing thank you notes tomorrow---notes arent my forte but i'll do something
what's their california address? shit. well i guess they'll get it eventually. . .
i'm not materialistic at all, bitch, talk to your son, he's the greedy one
always wanting more than what he has---nothing's good enough, you should kick HIS ass
leave mine alone, i'll right these tiny wrongs
i shouldnt have argued back
i shoulda known that she likes that
i tense up when i hear her slippers slide on the stairs
i think i'm a goner, my flesh'll be everywhere
fuck. better stop this shit and write my book then re-read sylvia for inspiration.