Ode to the bastard, or the cunning, if you will

Blame the constructively or actually absent father, the sons-of-empathyless-bitches must

And blame you too

You were late with their meal, or delivered it differently than what they’d had in mind but hadn’t shared aloud

Or had shared aloud, then in silent switched

Oh, heart-breaker, home-wrecker, save…SAVE your own life

Sell this soul as your own

Permission to abandon ship, grant thyself

Empty arms now jocular and free

Original Thought Credit: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.” -Anne Lamott