Don’t be mad at me for describing you as what you chose to be.

You’ve had your chance to be beautiful and squandered it for petty,

Spending your heart on those below you, and disregarding sincerity,

Imagining I would forgive without apology.

Or do you think I hurt you in a way that can’t be redeemed?

You were never hurt, and it was your lies that you screamed.

And what of the harm you did to me, with your dishonesty?

Does that not count for anything, with its weight so hefty?

No, do not be mad at me for the mountain you made of a hill,

For you could have healed it anytime, but bent only to their will.

Fake it until you fake it some more, right babe?