A Word of Advice in Return

Oh, for god’s sake…
Hey, shithead!
Who the fuck do you think you are,
telling me I don’t have to be scared
if I don’t want to be?

Like,
like my personality and defining characteristics
are just hats I choose to wear
at the start of every fucking day?
Do you think
I haven’t tried to rid myself
of the worries that plague my waking hours?
Do you think the core self-loathing
that drives my lack of direction
is something I’m happy about?
That I am just simply giddy to continue
without confidence?
Are you as intellectually retarded
as I emotionally?

Here’s the bulletin:
there are imbalances.
There are emotional
and chemical
and mental breaks in my system
– spiritual, too, probably –
and I am not the capable boy
I may seem to be at first glance
(hell, maybe I’m fooling myself
about the glance.
Possibly, it’s clear on first smell
that something’s wrong)
and it’s not just a matter of attitude adjustment
that’ll set me right.

I’m looking for the right fixing, fucker.
I’m looking all the time
and your ignorant
asinine
ill-informed advice has done less good
than you thought it might
other than turn me from mentally unstable
to frothing-at-the-mouth mad
as in furious.

So, uh…
fuck you
before I fuck you up
and all your friends too
all right?

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