“Do you even know what he looks like?”
You really ask me that?
I thought you’d be happy for me.
You know what I’ve dealt with,
lately in particular.
I can’t just have this little bit of happiness?
“He’s only seventeen.”
And just who the fuck are you to judge?
Twice your age,
not that it particularly matters,
but playing petty games even?
You’re to blame too, you know.
I told you as a friend.
I thought we were friends, anyway…
I just want a little bit of happiness.
“That’s some serious long distance.”
you two aren’t quite as far,
but you aren’t particularly close either.
How many miles?
Cross country, yeah?
I need just a little bit of happiness.
“I thought you weren’t into guys…”
Ever heard of fluidity?
I’ve had so much trouble,
so much fucking trouble,
with my sexual identity—
had to defend it to my mother for ten years.
someone who dares call me a friend,
tries to shatter that?
I deserve just a little bit of happiness.
Don’t take your problems out on him.
Don’t spit your acid,
mess with his head,
cause him astronomical amounts of pain,
because you refuse to face your own fucking problems.
Don’t call me a chameleon,
accuse me of “blaming my pills”,
not taking responsibility,
calling me my fucking father.
I will have just a little bit of happiness,
and you will not ruin it because you cannot find your own.