Crazy Like

When I was five, my mother told me:

Son, I think it’s time you stopped telling so many lies, otherwise, you won’t get to meet jesus in the end.

Yeah I know, she crazy

Crazy like cried when she found out her only son would burn in hell

Crazy like cried and made him take it back

Crazy like cried and made him promise he didn’t really mean it

Crazy like cried and made him swear it was a phase and he’d just get over it

Crazy like she was born into a world that thinks of her as property

Crazy like her father hit her when she acted too Mexican, or not lady enough

Crazy like every man she ever met, including her hell-bound son, looked down on her and not because she’s 5’4”

Crazy like she saw her a generation fight to earn rights just to watch them get snatched away

When I was seven, my father told me:

Son, it’s time for you stop all this crying. Your mother lets you get away with that around here but you can’t keep doing that in front of the other kids.

Yeah I know, he crazy

Crazy like grab a belt when his stupid son brought home bad grades

Crazy like grab a belt when his nasty son wipes his mouth on his sleeve

Crazy like grab a belt when his unruly son speaks out of turn

Crazy like grab a belt and not even tell his son why

Crazy like still thinks he’s going too easy on his son as he reminisces over the scars and burns from his own parents

Crazy like the world beat him so bad and bruised his vision such that the only way he could see his own son surviving was to make sure he could at least take the same beating

My last girlfriend told me:

I think it’s time for you to go because you are such a miserable bastard, yeah, I actually do think you’d only be happy if you were dead.

Yeah I know, she crazy

Crazy like her dad’s law firm ran a background check on me before our first date

Crazy like nudge me in my sleep to make sure I’m still breathing

Crazy like celebrated the fact that I was the first man in her life who wouldn’t hit her

Crazy like she’s the one in the five who survived

Crazy like don’t you get it yet? If you’re talking to them, then they are all the one in five who survived

My therapist told me:

You need to appreciate and be grateful to your body.

Yeah I know, she crazy

Crazy like told me I deserve to be happy and meant it, eww

Crazy like still demands I come up with at least one thing I love about myself, fucking gross

Crazy like really thinks I can do this, I mean shit

The miserable bastard who lives in my bathroom mirror told me:

You look so tired. I think it’s time to end it all.

Yeah I know, he crazy

Crazy like the world beat him down and it’s still up for debate if he survived

Crazy like his therapist still asks him what he loves about himself and he keeps saying nothing, not one thing

Crazy like he’d rather punch a wall than tell his friends he needs them

Crazy like he can only make it add up one fifth at a time

Crazy like the world wronged him and he’s terrified to find out if he’s even capable of moving passed it

I told the miserable bastard I share a bathroom with:

I think it’s time to become the forgiving type.

Yeah I know, we crazy