dad is trying to write his stupid verses,
and all I want to do is talk to him.
his priorities are wack.
wiggity wack, yo.
actually, I would never say that;
wack is SO 2005.
and I wasn’t even born yet.
but I do want to talk to him,
even if it’s just until he sends me away
to play video games.
Out of his hair
Out of his way
Out of his sight
My eleven-year-old mind
is often a blur,
but some things are crystal clear.
defying atrophy 
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