& the mother.
Oh God.
Getting increasingly suspicious of me.
Cramping into my already teeny weeny privacy.
All cos some makcik and some kepo friends of my sister paoto me abt Fz.
She asked if I have a boyf.
I said no.
Which is the HonesttoGod truth. (at the moment when she asked anw)
And she kept asking abt who he was.

Mother.
I'm 17.
I'm bound to be an asshole in some of my teenage years.
But for what I haven't done and tried,
as tempting as they may be,
I have to say that I have been a good girl.
Just not very.

Me: I'm gg out.
Her: Whr?
Me: Tm
Her: What for? There's nothing there (my agitation starts to kick in)
Me: Just walking around
Her: With whom? (agitation increasing steadily)
Me: Syafiqah
Her: That girl doesn't go to school or what? (Agitation in full gear)
Me: People end early on Fridays.

And I was trying very hard to control my temper as I went out of the house.

Please don't ask me about my problems.

Just settle with this conclusion:
I am a fucking brat.

Or any conclusion u want.

Know why?
Cos I couldn't care less about what you think of me.
You don't know me. You can't know me, unless you're ME.
& honestly, I just can't be bothered to explain my complex fam issues.

& Above all, I just hate talking about my problems.

Labels: problems

All poems in this blog are mine, unless stated otherwise (: