Am I high maintenance, or are you used to maintaining mediocrity?
Do I overread the room, or are you just illiterate?
I have to be the fixer, and that offends you… But you don’t even have a screwdriver or a clue where to buy one.
I’m too much, and you’re not good enough… Well, maybe that’s true.
My story isn’t good enough, my life contained amenities, I don’t know struggle…
HA! That’s my favorite…. So i should be punished because I WASN’T neglected?
My friends won’t tell me the truth about myself because they all have money… Wish THEY knew that.
I guess I am just the spawn of the fucking devil…
Then you say to me, “I’m sure you’ve done more good than harm.”
Because generosity was something never afforded to you?
Not my fucking problem. Go to a meeting. I’m sure it will do more good than harm.
Sometimes the shine that lured you in wasn’t light at all; it was noxious haze illuminated by ego and oppositional defiance.
Guess what? I’m not fixing that shit. How’s that for a boundary? Go phone a fucking friend. Wish I could!
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