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Mad

I’m asked why am I mad? I don’t know whether to laugh or pull my hair out while I scream at the top of my lungs. I’m so mad that asking why I’m mad just pisses me off more.


I’m mad at the world.


I’m mad at myself.


And I’m mad at you right now.


I’m mad that I’m sick.


I’m mad that I’m too nice.


And I’m mad that I just wasted time and money that I don’t have and for nothing.


I’m mad that I allow myself to get so overwhelmed.


I’m mad that I feel so alone.


And I’m mad my family thinks I’m nothing but a disgrace.


I’m mad that my house is nothing but a mess.


I’m mad that food is going to go to waste.


And I’m mad that before I get the clean clothes put away there’s already a trip ready for the Laundromat.


I’m mad that you expected me to say thank you to you when half the time you can’t even say it yourself.


I’m mad that I do so damn much and get no appreciation.


And I’m mad that even after telling you what was wrong you never did anything but feed yourself and go to sleep.


I’m mad that I feel like I’m a record stuck on repeat, because I know I am talking about the same shit over and over again.


I’m mad that nobody hears me whether it’s something good or bad.


And I’m mad at myself because I continue to allow myself to feel this way.


I’m mad after all this time you still don’t even know me.


I’m mad that you don’t trust me


And I’m mad that no matter what I do you still don’t believe me.


I’m mad I feel like a failure.


I’m mad that I haven’t been thinking about what I would have to do if I lost it all today.


And I’m mad that once again I'm the failure that everyone believed I was.


I'm mad that I continue to cry.


I'm mad I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.


And I’m so mad that even with all the madness I still love you.








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