If I were a recipe,
I would be made up of mostly self critism and doubt with a pinch of failure.
Never adding up to anything more than a meal at McDonald's.
Something fast and easy,
but not really good for anything or anyone.
No, Im a McDonalds meal the day after; cold and questionable; but put to some use.
Maybe if I was left out for more than just the ordianry Americanized human consumption and my creator wasn't some teenager with bad luck and poor judgement I wouldn't have turned out so overcooked and tasteless.
Trying to sum up to anything worth more than being on the dollar menu.
The yellow and red plaster their normaility of standards I will never fulfill.
The yellow arches that break my back aftrer every possible consideration but never enough to be their first choice.
And the extra eight cents that those penny pinches cry over.
Saying and proclaiming "the government is to blame".
Taxes upon taxes
and then those who abuse the system are literally the only reason we even have a system.
So yes, I am the outcome of teen pregnancy gone wrong or maybe a teenage pregnancy gone right
But she'll trace her fingers on her empty abdomen and look at me and say she made me because she actaully did.
Every good mistake and bad day, so thanks mom, I mean thank you cook.
You did well.