Family Dinners

Every Sunday
Family dinners
At the table
You’d hide behind
The small talks
The table decorations
Your fake smiles
Talks about you
Your education
What kind of future you’d have
Assuming you’d have one
You’d better run
Every Sunday
Nobody will say
But you’ve said it
Now they hate
Your big mouth
Your fat ass
For such a little girl
Go on a diet
They say
Go find a man
They say
Go put on a dress
They say
Be more of a lady
They say
Leave me the fuck alone
You want to say
But family is family
So you eat your dinner
Then walk away
See you again
Next Sunday

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