Poetry Probaly Not Good

The man I call father

why? why? why did you do those bad things.

It kinda stings.

You probaly don't care about me.

Get hit by a tree!

Prison is where you'll be locked up for awhile.

I don't think I want you to see, me walking down the aisle.

abusing my mom, that's real low.

It took a real tow.

I couldn't even help her, I was like two.

You need to be hit by a shoe.

I say so many bad things to you in this poem.

but, you are the man I call father.