My boyfriend should be happy,
Here comes an Evanescence reference:
The last poem I’m wasting on you.
I refer to you as Cunt-of-a-grandmother,
But you’re really not a mother at all.
You’re more of an übercunt.
Like of all the cunts I know,
You are the benchmark.
I am going to edit this,
As your god should have edited you.
Gods, I hate you.
I know three languages, and yet,
I cannot convey the depths of hate I have.
Stephen Hawking could not convey it,
Nor could Einstein make a formula.
Dr. Tyson would need more than his charisma,
And his brains to sway an audience to know…
How much I want not to love you.
But, life is choices,
And you made yours.
So, I make mine…
Without honouring you as an ancestor.