Why I wouldn’t date my Self

Me: Stop eating so much, fatass.
Self: I only had one cookie today.

Me: You mean one less cookie. I saw you eat 11 out of 12.”
Self: So what.

Me: So what? You’re going to kill me.
Self: I didn’t do shit, I stole it from my mother.

Me: So you’re a fucking thief? Fucking loser.
Self: You’re fucked up get the fuck out of my face.

Me: Fuck you.
Self: I hope you fucking die, you fucking bitch. That’s what you are.

Me: If you don’t like me so much, leave!
Self: Good, I’m already cheating on you!

Me: With him again, REALLY? What about this morning and last night? That doesn’t count.
Self: You don’t have a dick.

Me: Fuck you.
Self: Fuck you too.

“I have a vagina between my legs and a penis for a brain.”


I have a vagina.
A dirty mind.
A brain.
Anything goes…


One a good day,
My dick is hard.
On a bad day,
My dick is soft.

I am what you think I am,
You don’t know me personally.
You can label me,
But, I’m a bitch — I don’t care.

I think what I want.
I love who I love.
I’m just living a life.
Trying to figure it all out.