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I really wanted it to be you,
I so badly wanted it to be you,
Until I understood
You didn't want it to be me.

I blocked Him with the very same hand I used to put it back in when it slipped out.

It's getting bad?
No, I'm not getting bad "again".
This isn't something "temporary". This is the state I've been in for a long time. But when I become mentally exhausted from all the pretending, that's when you see it too. It's getting bad "again" for YOU.
Because for me, this is something I have to deal with every day.
Every hour.
Every Moment.
I am only showing you the tip of my emotions, because if I let you see it all, you won't be able to comprehend how I am even still alive.
You've seen nothing.

The first man in my life taught me to be terrified of others like him.
Whenever I wept he told me not to cry or he'd give me something to cry about.
And so I learned to swallow the sadness and turn it to anger instead.
They did always say I was just like my Dad; just never to his face.

And bless the daughter
but fuck the family.
What is a home
if not the first place you learn to run from?

You've got to bite the hand
that starves you, and in doing so
Praise the place that birthed you.
Birthed you fucked up.
Birthed you ugly, and interesting,
and ready to scream.