The cup broke!
I wasn't to blame!
It was your fault,
yet you will for shame!
"You make me sick,"
you rant and rave,
and all I can think
about is the affection
I crave.
Why don't I make
you happy poppa?
Why can't I do
anything right?
Why is it that you don't
tuck me in at night?
Years from now
I'll remember this,
every moment of ill
treatment, but it'll
be to late to apologize
then because it wont
penetrate my bruised spirit.
