Because we’re having a rough time with the end of this relationship. I just wanna write him a letter, because he is not. Ain’t nothing worse being the only miserable party, cuz the way my petty is setup, I want us to wallow together. BUT NO. Barack outchea flourishing.
Dear President Obama,
Honestly, this is our fault. When you said you had to go, we should have just said “we refuse” and blocked your way. Instead, we watched you pick up your bag and walk out the door. We didn’t even fight for you.
You’re just gon quit us like this. You’re just gonna act like what we had wasn’t real. You’re just gon treat us all disposable, as if our love was a BIC razor, from an 8-pack. You ain’t have to just up and leave like this. Well, fine you did. Because the laws of the land said that after January 20, 2017 at 12pm EST, you had to stop being our president since you’ve served two full terms.
BUT FUCK THEM LAWS. They don’t matter. Hell, we see they don’t because the dustbucket who took your place is surely not paying attention to any of them. That niglet can barely READ and his illiterate ass is what happens when you hand over the keys to an 18-wheeler to a toddler. Cheeto Satan is the worst!!!
Barack, you left us with Voldemort, and him and his Death Eaters are about to run us all into the ground. You didn’t even finish your Dumbledore’s Army Defense Against the Dark Arts trainings before you hopped on a helicopter and went on vacation. I hadn’t perfected my Patronus charm yet!
WE WEREN’T READY.
I feel like a jilted ex. We already thought about drunk texting you a time or two but you changed your number and you surely ain’t text us the new one. We even thought about calling your mom (cuz she loves us) and just seeing if she could pass it on. But when we called her house, she acted like we drank the last bit of orange juice and put the carton back in the fridge. We hung up from the call and SOBBED.
What hurts the most is how unbothered you are about this breakup. We were together for 8 long years, and you just gon leave without looking back. You outchea showing your armpits in glee with no worries as you kitesurf, in the postcard you ain’t send us. Only reason we know is because we’re stalking you. THIS LOVE CANNOT BE OVER.
You and Queen Shellie LaVaughn walking out here in tiny shorts and hats backwards, while we’re over here taking bets on who will volunteer for tribute once the Hunger Games start. We’re just besides ourselves. Y’all island hopping with Richard Branson, and taking these “wish you were here” ass pictures. Flaunting it all our faces. And the way my envy is set up, I know you’re deserving, because you worked your way into going full salt from pepper. It doesn’t make it any easier for us to deal with.
Out here being the Commander in Chief of No Fucks Given. Being the Sergeant of Swagnificence. Barack, you walking these streets with the freedom of someone who ain’t coming back. You’re probably gonna send a mailing label to us so we can return the things you left at our house.
This is the picture of a man who is not just done but finished.
ARE THOSE MUSCLES I SEE?!? Bruh, that’s not even cool or fair!
This hurts so much! And it’s not like I blame you. That’s not it, ‘Rack. I get it. You had to go. We wanted marriage and you had already told us you were gon leave and gave us a date. But then that day came and we looked over to your side of the bed and it was empty.
*sings in the key of butthurt* Un-break our hearts, Barack! SAY YOU LOVE US AGAIN. Undo this hurt that you caused when you walked out the door and walked out of our livesss…” WE MISS YOU!!!
All of Us
P.S. I mean. Can you at least let us keep that tshirt of yours? You know the one we used to like to wear to sleep? No? K.
Have you bought my debut book I’M JUDGING YOU: The Do-Better Manual. Haven’t ordered it yet? Now’s your chance. You’ll love it. Amazon. Barnes & Nobles. iBooks. Audible (I narrated the audiobook myself). Kobo. Books-A-Million.