Worse There’s nothing worse, worse than the defecate stuck at the heel of your favorite sneaker because some dumbass forgot to pick up after his shit and just because he didn’t care about the others walking behind. But there is, it’s called a home that really isn’t one to begin with and there lives the highest ranking dictator who doesn’t give a flying fuck about the shit that’s gone and stuck itself on you. He just looks at the mess you’ve brought as if it was your fault, that you’d brought it upon yourself to be so shitty unlucky this one day and he hovers over you, reminding you of this one time failure, lying in wait for the next. -velajune update: This is a poem from spur of the moment. I know there are dads who’ve made their children happy and still doing so. I know that not all dads are like mine, which is a real good thing. So, there goes a disclaimer- kinda. I also just recently updated on tumblr with: It Just Stinks And if you want a good read, here’s a link to one of my favorite, not really published, writers: Attica There’s that. I’ll update again when I remember what I’ve forgotten, if I did indeed forget something.