Brat

2021-09-24

Your personality rivals opening a spoiled melon,

And your demeanor is like that of a politician.

Upon meeting you I knew outright

That I would have to use all my might

Not to punch you in the stomach.

It was worse enough with just your mother

But she had to go ahead and make another

Is your grandmother like this, too? I wonder.

Maybe this is a family trait of yours

Going all the way back to the age of the hunter.

When you talk, all I hear

Is a sound like a cheetah squealing in fear

Or like an Amber alert, the noise about to split my ear.

Nothing you say is worth my time

“Nice” things you say are coated in smug, sour slime

I don’t think anything can clean off that icky grime.

Everyone knows you went on vacations to Paris and London

Each time you say it, I want to stuff your eyes with onion

Not that it would make those golf-ball-sized eyes any worse.

Those bulbous, monstrous units

Stretch the flesh around them thin

I'm surprised you still have eyelids; that much protrusion seems unsafe for your skin.

But it complements your face, over-caked with foundation

And your kitchen scissor haircut that you said was so "in"

You’re almost as ugly as a baby pigeon.

It’s baffling that you’re a model anyway.

You’re lucky your make-up artists can hide away

Your miserable, sorry condition

Those people deserve a pay raise

For just being within proximity of your face.

Whenever you move, I smell an abhorrent odour

like rotten meat and half-burnt chives that smolder

All the perfumes in the world won’t be enough to cover

Your personality, which is like no other

Yet, even so

It’s like I’m your only foe.

Everyone else is your blind follower

Even though you see them as far lower

All blinded by your supposed “beauty”

Yet, here I am, overwhelmed by your putridity.  

You’re the teacher’s pet, and my pet peeve,

If you died, you know what?

I probably wouldn’t even grieve.