“Toast to a Roast (a formal introduction)”

I’m an asshole, okay? At the end of the day, the rainbow, the therapy session, the nut; I’m a dick, waiting to bust. So what?

I blow Gelato, and eat Talenti, in remembrance of my mother. We weren’t the typical mother and son bond that I longed for; but life is perfect in the vision it gives you, and in clarity, you realize that you don’t get another one — so fuck it.

I’m an asshole.

I remember an aunt’s words, said I was nonchalant. And now being grown and having lost time, and then extended it, inside of women, it feels disrespectful. Like these sentences would structure themselves if I listened to what others fear most. Ironically, I took on design that wasn’t mine, trying to ease them, but couldn’t find my mind, as it was the center of every conversation that I wasn’t in — what does it mean when you really don’t fear ghosts?

When you give people rope to hang themselves, but they’ve swallowed so much bullshit and tried to regurgitate it, instead they choke. And you rush to save them and they say they love you, until reciprocity requires you to provide proof with the show. You wanna walk in these size 11's, and I invite you to. You don’t get the same eyes to fit the scope; certain shit you won’t get to know.

I’m an asshole. I don’t take kindly to bullshit. Not too many people I hold close.