Hey you sir, yes you
I heard you were a fan of poetry
Especially when you think its about you.
I have to ask,
Why you still need people to hold your hand,
When you're hurtling towards adulthood.
I realise you have no respect for me,
My feelings, my pride,
It's nice to know,
You like my pain, my humilation,
From our closest friends.
For that, I return
A white-hot anger,
Let's hope you don't get burnt.
So feel free to send this poem,
To every one of our friends,
Because its you, not me, that going down
In everyone's estimation.