In all of my twenty years of life,
I have been many things.

A daughter
A sister
A friend
A lover

But now, I am no longer my father’s little girl.

My father doesn’t talk to me anymore;
He says that I don’t look him in the eyes,
And he is right, but not for the reason he believes

I am afraid to look him in the eyes
Because I don’t want to see myself reflected in them,
Proof of my failure to separate myself from him,
Proof that I am him and always will be him

I do not want to become my father,
Stuck in a marriage with no love left
Or love that is there
Only because it is supposed to be

I do not want to become my father,
Constantly on the verge of tiredness,
And whether that tiredness is directed at
His family or his life, I shall never know

Because I do not want to become my father
All sharp words and angry edges,
Keeping everyone around him on their toes,
Keeping my head on a swivel to not upset him

I do not want to be my father.
I do not want to make my children feel
as though they will never measure up to
Impossible standards, set way too high

I do not want to be my father,
Telling my daughter that she’s eating too much
And not looking at me enough,
Guilt-tripping her into half-hearted apologies,
Said with tears trembling in her eyes

I do not want to be my father.
I do not want my children to be frightened of me,
Dreading the thought of my arrival home
Waiting in fear of my reaction to something they’ve done

I do not want to be my father.
My home will be a gentle home,
Peaceful and quiet,
With no rage-filled shouting matches

I do not want to be my father,
Wondering where he went wrong with his daughter,
That she would stand in front of him, angry tears on her cheeks,
Screaming at him that she wishes that she were dead

I do not want to be my father.
Struggling to catch up with the times,
Grudgingly supportive of the daughter that is different,
The daughter that loves men and women,
But only because he has to be

I do not want to be my father
But I wish that sometimes,
I could be his little girl again,
Back when everything was ok
And it still felt like he loved me

I do not want to be my father,
But sometimes,
It feels as though
I will never be anything more

Hot tears stream down my face and burn my skin,
Hot flames consume me is i burn for my sin,
Living itself should be i crime,
Just barely scraping by on the dime,
I guess hell would be better then being alive,
In this world how do so many survive,
Suicide rates have never been higher,
As peoples need for help becomes more dire,
But so many screams will never be heard,
So many people ignored every word,
Mind like a cage that keeps me inside,
Id ask to be free but I already died.

O' what I would not do to live in my dreams,
My mind is filled with voices and screams,
My head it feels as thought it will burst,
When I try to be happier it hurts the worst,
I try to be silent and sit in the dark,
But my brain just shorts and continues to spark,
The fire it lights consumes all it can see,
My mind is a prison and I will never be free,
It hurts like hell is only in my head,
Most time it flares up I wish I was dead,
The things they say it makes no sense,
I can be completely alone yet feel so tense,
I used to be loud and crazy,
Now I am sad and lazy,
Why cannot my mind be

no pressing crushes, no bruises to poke
losing autonomy, stuck on cruise control
hold me so I can feel something
no blessings are approaching, no stress is revoked
I choke on my sweet words, I am afraid of being hurt
worked until I was blind
numbed until I was fine
pressing buttons, I tried
to get a reaction, to prove our chemistry
to get a response, to prove you needed me
but you didn't
now it has ruined me

Do you,
think of,
me,
the way,
I,
think of,
you?
Because,
truth is,
I,
really don’t.
When the news says,
someone’s dead,
I look for,
your name,
instead.
Is that,
bad?
Possibly,
just sad?
It probably is,
but truth is,
I don’t care.
The scars you left,
wont wither,
until you taste,
the poison you,
hypocritically,
made for me.
Do you,
think of,
me,
the way,
I,
think of,
you?
Probably,
not.