The past? A mask, don’t bask.
Words a glitch? Taken a switch? Sales pitch.
I sit, and I stitch, and I stitch, and I stitch, and I stitch, and I stitch, and I stitch.
Still a bitch.
Remember the times I lay on the floor, begging for love, but all I got was a roar?
Still, remember that imposter of a father.
But I the manipulative bitch.
As I cling to sisters, that all try to ignore the insults turned object, physically thrown but
Please, daddy, don’t leave us alone.
Leave us, come back, you had a bad day; I hurt you because I love you, so see it’s ok.
So I try to think hard of reasons to love you. I love mommy because that’s what daughters do to people they were birthed to.
That time the door locked, and I stood in the snow, and I slammed the door you the only one home.
That time I ran, but you were there, grabbing my arm, screaming don’t you fucking dare.
That time I locked myself in my room, screaming and sobbing. I hate you. But I hated myself, more than anyone knew, when you are told again, and again and again and again and again you are nothing, well shit must be true. I deserved this shit, didn’t I? Manipulative and hated, a bitch who’s unstable.
I mean, who can raise a child with an anxiety label?
Brushing on Words 