Strangers. Whenever I look at my parents all I think is strangers.
Piles and piles of fake conversation overflowing their straight faces,
not even room left to leave me a single smile.
Because the door to my life is closed forever.
And I can’t the find the key.
Stepmother, I know you never wanted me.
everyday you stepped down on me like I was part of the cracked cement on the floor
avoiding me like I would bad luck or a curse to you,
pointing out every flaw, imperfections on my body, and judgement on my attitude
Am I wrong for coming home everyday wanting someone to ask me what I wanted for dinner or how was my day, because I wanted you to care.
you devoured my very own vision of my childhood,
broken pieces of a child who just wanted somebody to love them.
because I just wanted a motherly figure to care for me.
I didn’t get that.
Father, Though I rarely see you, I never look forward to our conversations.
Rolling my eyes, as you offer your heartless, ignorant incite on everything like your mind is full with knowledge of the world.
Everyday, you ask me what I want to do with my life.
I say that I want to write.
But you tell me that I’m wrong.
My brain is boggled by the lack of consideration you caress in your mind.
One night with a chuckle, you told me you thought people who are depressed are just weak and you hope i’m not like that.
But what if I was?
What if I was so fed up with the lack of care, loneliness, inconsideration I feel in my bones and I killed myself.
Then would you laugh and call me weak?
You see, I couldn’t open up my mind or my heart to you even if tried
This household is nothing but an act, set like a play, scripted, repeated conversations, like everyday we put on a show.
Money couldn’t buy away the loneliness that I feel.
I seek refuge in my safe haven, My room is my own little sanctuary, locked up with myself,
I remember back when I was a freshman,
I used to binge drink my way into not remembering things that put me down,
smoking away bitter thoughts and memories so I didn’t feel them,
Feeling intoxicated just so I could forget myself,
I hated myself.
I just wanted feel appreciated.
Acknowledged, cared for.
I’ve left evidence of bottles and the lighter.
Because I’m not as innocent and naive as you think I am.
your fucked up version of ‘daddy’s little girl’ is a lie.
Because you ruined her with your false visions of what good parenting actually looks like.
Points: 747
Reviews: 103
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