I don’t fucking get it.
My mom doesn’t call me. She doesn’t call Will. She doesn’t call Jacob. She’ll post statuses on facebook about how her boys are her world and how nobody can come between her and her boys and how she’d do amything for her boys and it makes me wonder if she fucking considers us her boys. Like are you only talking about Marquis and Johnny?
And by “nobody” do you mean Alex? Because I’m pretty fucking sure you dropped me and boast about your man, now.
You can post facebook statuses saying that it’s your son, Will’s birthday but you don’t even have the decency to tag him in it or call him first. You call him later on in the evening.
You don’t even fucking acknowledge me.
You want Alex? FUCK it. I don’t fucking care. You want him to cheat on you again? What the fuck ever. Dont say I didn’t warn you.
But stop calling me? Stop visiting us immediately when Will and I move into the house in Jersey? That fucking hurts. To go from coming over all of the time to acting like we don’t exist.
It fucking hurts dude.
Because you always said you’d visit me. And you never even had the fucking nerve to tell me that you couldn’t come. You just would never show up. To a point where I never even believe you when we hear some fucking rumor that you plan on coming by. Because it never happens. You claim to give a shit about us but where’s the FUCKING PROOF.
When I was In the fucking hospital, you couldn’t even show up.
The greatest fucking feeling
And I mean the GREATEST fucking feeling would be to see your face in the crowd when I had performances. It felt fucking great to see that you actually showed up.
And I thank you so much for showing up for 3 performances.
Hearing you whistling down the hall when you would walk to grandma’s apartment to pick me up for the weekend. It was the sweetest fucking sound. Even though I knew that’s one of the only sounds I’d hear from you because for the remainder of the weekend, you’d have your eyes closed, and rocking back and forth. And I didn’t know why.
And now I know.
And I don’t hate you for exposing me to that.
I’m not upset that I had to see Alex fucking tackle you to the ground while you were pregnant. I would try to get the son of a bitch off of you even though I was a tiny fucking 8 year old boy.
I don’t hate you for choosing Alex over us.
I don’t hate you for keeping me a motel room with a group of men, packaging drugs. Even when pops and elisa found me that night. And I knew I shouldve hated you for it. But I still couldn’t wait to hear your whistle down the hall again.
It hurts so bad.
I just wish you’d at least call.