good to get off the chest.

I'm usually quite pious

when it comes to love and hate –

a little smile goes a long way,
and who am I to judge a sad face?
but you, my dear, you
ruin every last of my vows and virtues.

there is not an inch of worth to your existence.

not a talented bone in your precious little body,

not an intelligent cell in your booze-fried brain,

not a humble word resting between your teeth.

you thrive on the spotlight of harsh words,

so maybe I'm still just filling your dirty dog bowl,

but these are the words I know we're all thinking.

I'm far from the Janice to your Regina, trust me.

I'm astounded, not obsessed

at how ridiculous a human being you are.

so, laugh now.

throw your head back and call me names,

but revel in this privilege

of a poem named after you

while it still lasts –

because someday,

while you're sitting in your baby-stained shack,

in some remote 'Jackson, Wyoming' type of town,

you won't hear your name between the static transmission

of my heart-warming Oscar speech.

this is the last shred of attention I'll ever give

a purposeless, pathetic shrew like you.