I went to a party
And remembered what you said.
You told me to drink, Mom.
I felt proud of myself
The way you said I would.
And drunk, I finally got into Pavement because I was flying high, Mom.
I made a choice, Mom.
Your advice to me was “Party!”
I felt brave and alive the way you said I would.
Though some friends said
I should not drink and drive, I myself
Made the choice to drive drunk—like you, Mom.
I got into my car, Mom,
I was really a wreck, Mom,
Drunk—and high!—I was not myself.
If I had not made the wrong choice, these would not be my final moments; instead, because of that party
I am going to die. A paramedic said
So to a policeman, he said: “I’d put out a hundred to say this drunk lying here on the pavement will now die—remember: I said she would!”
I hear the paramedic say, “Finally!” and, “I was right! I knew she would!” as my breath is getting shorter. I’d
Love to cut you, Mom,
With a hundred stabbing knives, because you said
Not to be afraid to drink and drive, Mom,
That I could get home in one piece and to, like, “do it, girl, get drunk—go Party,”
That I should be brave and drink myself
To my grave; I had no idea that you said it knowing I really would die, and I never expected myself
To be this out of it, that my own blood would
Be all around me because of your advice to “drink a hundred,” to “really party,”
To “party hard, kid.” So when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put “parents ruin lives” on my grave, Mom.
You caused this. You drove me to die because of what you said.
That said, I did do it myself.
Sure, Mom, that is what you would
Say, Mom—that it was, finally, my own choice not to drink Sprite at the party.
Note: The was originally accompanied by a note that read, “If you receive this petition and do nothing but delete it, your selfishness knows no bounds.”