something I wrote a long time ago.
What I would say to my dad if I was capable of telling him how I feel.
What possesses you to do what you do? Or do you just not care about the things that you do? Do you not care about the people in your life?
The person who you helped create, me.
The person who stayed up wondering where you went, me.
Was it that easy to be so selfish with me?
It's okay, nowadays, I don't think about it.
Nowadays, I rather do everything but think about it.
I rip apart my life in a frantic effort to not think about it.
Drink, smoke, would rather poison myself than to have to think about it.
But when I'm all alone, it's all that I can really feel.
I see myself as a nobody, the same way that you saw me.
I discard myself, the same way you did to me.
I don't hate you, in fact, I love you. That's always what you want to hear.
But you don't deserve to hear it.
Why must you ask me to say things to make you feel complete when I feel half full, because of you.
To work hard to be loved. To beg to be loved. To chase. To accept what I shouldn't. To be okay with what was not. To tread lightly so I don't disappoint. To feel frantic when I inevitably do. To feel fear when I lose.
Is that all that I get? Is that all that I deserve?
You don't deserve to hear it, don't force me to say it when it hurts.
I used to be angry at the world.
Except I hadn't known yet that it was you. You did that, it was all you.
And I didn't know. I didn't know.
Somehow I convinced myself it was my fault. Somehow I became the reason. I must have just not been enough.
So insignificant that even a father could forget you.
I mean, what else could it be?
Eventually, you come to the conclusion that it's you.
And you did that to me, you.
All I did was love you, innocently as daughters do, and what did I get from that?
I feel bad for you, cause maybe you've felt the same way I do.
Maybe we're alike in that way.
baratheonpilled
janainaart
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
