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I was once ashamed of my dad's car. It is the car by the side of the road. The one that sput-sput-sputtered, Whose lights are blown as much as working. The one that finds it hard to start. Whose battery dies and engine floods, As often as people stared. It wasn't so reliable. It's always the car at the side of the road. One day I thought, "It is his, he owns it." "He may not own a great deal, But he owns one more car than me." "Perhaps I had been ungrateful." "Why did it matter that it was as old as me?" "It did it's job when it was working, however long that took." I'm no longer ashamed of my dad's car. It's his until it isn't. And of course this won't be my transport forever, But I'll happily let it take me where I need to go. Even if mi nah guh drive it miself, cah mi nuh want it lef mi a road mi one.

talor hit me up. and ill say sup. wanna go fer a cheeky quickie. and youll say ok after me bickie.

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I was all kinds of confused and awkward. 

And I don't like poo-ets.