My Thoughts

No more.

You think I'm not a child?
That because I'm turning 17, that I'm an adult? That all I do is sit around, watching TV,
and hang out with my friends?

You think that I don't feel the same pain?
Live through the same hell?
Have the same shitty world thrust upon my shoulders?

You're wrong.

I feel it, I feel it so intensely that I want to die.
I want this pain to stop, and I want peace.
I want to stop existing, and I want to feel ok.

You say that we don't always get what we want.
No shit Sherlock.
You thing I wanted my grandmother to forget me?
To suffer and die before my eyes?

I was 13.

I was 16 when Pop died.
6 weeks of hospital visits.
Doctors saying he was coming home
It was a different kind of home.

Now Aunt Peggy's dying,
And you think that this is easy?
That I want to go through this for the second time this year?

You're wrong.

Self harm and dangerous thoughts are always there.

I'm unnatural...

I'm a freak...

                I don't belong...

                  Who could ever love me...

          Just die already.

And it's all I hear.

You think yelling and screaming fixes everything.
That it teaches me respect and responsibility.
My responsibility is to keep living, to try and stay alive.
My respect for you faded long ago.

You don't love me.
You don't love me because I'm...

a nuisance...

disgusting...

despicable...

                           dramatic...    

               bratty...

spoiled....

                     useless...

       selfish...

                                                           childish...

rude...

a waste of air...

I'm so many things, and none of them are good in your eyes.
I'll never be good enough.
Not like the others.

I tell you how I feel, and you call it a phase.
I'm honest, I open the locked box inside my chest.
You reject me.
You call me a phase.

Is that all I am to you?
My father, the man suppose to honor and protect me?
The man meant to love and cherish me?

I am your maid, your verbal punching bag, your anger management class.
I am nothing that can't be replaced.

One day I'll leave and never turn back.
I'll fly far away from all your cruelty, and your hateful words.
I'll be free from your venom.

Your poisoned tongue stings my skin, my heart, my soul.
Like daggers ripping me to shreds,
my flesh strung about, left to rot. 

I'll have no more of it.
No more hot tears and red eyes,
No more soft sobs and loud punches,
No more trapped hearts and empty souls.

No more...