by Marvin "Swashplate" Camp
By Swashplate

My son is driving me insane, he doesn't act his age,
He dwarfs me in size and weight, yet he makes me rage.
He is almost 17 and thinks hes all grown up,
He fails at his little chores, bucks up to me, curses me, a mind corrupt.

I try first to explain what is expected and the rules,
Curses his Mom and me like we are a bunch of fools.
I then try to get his attention, by raising my voice,
He then act like he has the option of choice.

He knows what buttons to push, but doesn't know when to stop,
I get so tired of trying to reach him, as a Dad I ain't worth slop.
He bucks up to me with threats of bodily harm,
I then tell him, TRY, and I will break both of your arms.

The ole lady sits back quietly as this angry exchange,
My son moves away cursing me, moving out of range.
Curses get louder as his distance increase,
My anger boils quickly to rage, still holding back out of reach.

Then he destroys his room, my house, and anything he find,
A voice in my head tells me to choke his curse words from his mind.
I see damage to property in the are of thousands of dollars,
It's getting bad again here, way past mad hollers.

They know that I have a thin line between anger and rage,
Yet, they continue to drive me insane, a turn of the page.
The futility of this crap is tearing my life apart,
I know its bad for my blood pressure and my heart.

At times, I wished I were dead,
Yet, A coward to put a bullet to my head.
Tormented in sleep and in waking,
This has to be my Hell.