I can't stand the restlessness any longer!
If I were wearing a 19th century hairdo,
it would look like a haystack by now!
It sickens me, how they avoid me.
It's because I'm not fabulous enough, girrrl.
I don't don't emanate ferocity like those glowing sequins...
I mean, seriously, if you're gonna
rob this country of its morals,
you must do it like a diva all the way through--
So you're not a flighty Nancy Boy.
That's not how your Dominican father raised you!
You were expected to ripen and rot as qucikly
as the ideals we so cautiously laid upon you,
and you look like you've basically entered adulthood,
that nice stage where you're your own mortified audience.
"He's a filthy motherfucker"
"I would make a horrid boyfriend,"
"I'm unique" becomes "I'm hideous,"
and your cuts for pain release
are now for your hatred at the flesh gawking lazily below you.
This, my child, is opening the doors to your heart.
Never thought it'd be such a pigsty, that's for sure.
When it reaches years of pretending not to have one,
it's bound to happen.
Done with freshman year at college,
and you've finally reached puberty!