On my neck, I still got marks from the day I was born. As a shorty, I always had to get scorned. I couldn?t have been more of a prick as a thorn. A bad report card-before it reached home it got torn. I didn?t know if I should be soft or hardcore, like porn. I stomped on authority, like a mat for a door. I had no reason to be mad-I wasn?t even poor, and my parents were together. They sent me to the doctor when I was under the weather, but I still had shorty girls wrapped around the pole like teather, and my hand was rocking evil gestures. No more fooling around-no more fun and games-these words are in honor of my history teacher?s name. I learned it?s not all about gaining the fame, or laying blame. I could have never imagined-but I still wasn?t tame. Like perfect accuracy, I was never missin?, and I?m thankful that I always had a pot to piss in. Who would have thought that when I spoke, people would listen-I started to pitchin. It?s no fable, there was always food on the table-I was never hungry, like a starved horse in a stable. I?ve been shown love since the days of the cradle, when I used to cry. I always had dreams of being able to fly. Thank you, mom, for punishing me when I lie. I don?t know what the *censored* I?ll do when you and dad die.