I understand why you didn't like Steve Martin, okay?
I understand why you never played barbies with me, and always made Leroy.
I get that I was, in retrospect, a replacement child.
I'm sorry I never called you
I'm sorry I never wrote
I'm sorry I didn't tell you how much I thought about you.
And I'm sorry that I lost the music box you gave me.
I think that it sucks that this is all I can give you right now.
I think that it's a shame that I am a teenager, oh so devoted to the art of attention whoring.
I wish you could see me all grown up.
I just know you'd be proud of me.
Because for some reason, you never once noticed a fault of mine.
And I'm angry. I'm not angsty. I'm not upset.
I am angry and hurt and selfish
for wanting you to stay.