Fuck. Fuck essays. Fuck homework. Fuck saving money. Fuck wasting time on endeavours society says you must endeavour. Fuck sobriety and abstinence and growing old. Fuck eating, because frankly, I don’t want to be fat anymore. Fuck boundaries and expectations and living and breathing and singing for other people. I sing for myself. Fuck auto-tuned teenage girls who can't keep their clothes on, and fuck all the talented youth who will never take their music out of their bedroom. Fuck anger and fuck feeling emotions you know you are faking. Fuck superiority. Fuck trendy shoes and overpriced t-shirts. Fuck the girls who lead you on and don't fuck the boys who are only using you because they heard you put out.

Choose life. Choose camping. Choose jumping into the ball pit and getting kicked the fuck out of McDonalds. Choose what makes you smile. Choose to get trashed, fucked, wasted, hammered, high, mentally incapacitated. Choose to fly. Choose control and choose when to lose it. Choose to die of old age or choose to die pretty. Choose singing at the top your lungs in an empty house and choose to let your creepy neighbours across the street hear it. Choose guilty pleasures and choose to not feel guilty. Choose to go back or choose to move forward. Choose to leave the tag on all those ugly pictures of yourself on Facebook. Choose feeling real feelings. Choose reality. Choose life. Choose to rebel. Choose anarchy. Choose free love and substance love and choose to abuse. Choose your bad habits, choose your flaws. Choose lacy dresses and leather skirts and choose to glow. Choose who to love and choose who to fuck. Choose to own them, choose freedom. Get what you want. Choose happiness. And choose to say fuck the useless slags who want to stop you.