Poetry

A Testy Exchange

At least I don’t live in my mom’s basement!, she shouted.

Yeah well at least my mom isn’t gonna die next month

How do you know that? How do you know that! Mama’s boy!

Well…at least I’m trying really hard to get out

Really hard? Oh sweety, you spend all day writing on your blog. You poor soul. Now I just feel sorry for you.

Don’t feel sorry for me. Have a party for me. Bitches, balloons, Bacardi, and weed. And let niggas know that I died with the heart of a G.

What’s that?

Juelz Santana. Check him out.

Maybe I will!!

*Puts on headphones*

*3 minutes pass*

Great song. Oh Jose. This would all be so much better if you were successful.

I am successful – in my own eyes.

Studio Audience: Awwww

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