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Dad why do you do this? Why do you hurt me so? Your words fly effortlessly from your mouth and land blows that wind me, slicing very deep to the bones of the child that lays inside my heart. She weeps every time you say those sentences; phrases that sing the same scratching tune. She weeps as she collects them with bloodied hands and throat so raw and stores them in a the ever expanding room of hurt. Yet tighter still she clutches to the small jar of happier times spent as if it were a sacred object. She worships that jar - bites and snarls if anyone tries to take that from her because it gives her hope. Countless times I have failed to hate you truly. Your actions merit more than hatred and disgust. It needs to be purged from my body, my mind, my room and the space in between my ribs that beats so heavily at the thought of you. I have argued with the Sidney inside. She clings so much to that jar. She snaps back at me and nips at my fingers, dashing into the crevices where I can’t reach, shaking her head vehemently. I’ve hated her. Scorn her deeply, wishing that maybe I too should burn her from me like a tumour, a gangreneous limb. She is the only thing that has halted this ever sharpening double edge knife; a painful hopeless sort of hope that twists itself deep into my soul. So why do you do this? Hurt me so dad. Your words are poison. And yet, everyday I listen, knowing it’s harmful effects and growing ever weaker, I listen!
There are times where the tears slide from my face, my heart barely able to contain this explosion of feeling. But you do not see. Not closely enough because I don’t not cry out and raise a ruckus. No, my pain is a stoic one. It is one that saturates the air, steals my voice, fills me with lead so that I still, so that I do not move or make an utterance. Many times I have wished that you would see. See me. But just as many and perhaps even more, I am afraid of the discovery. I do not wish you to see these tears. These tears are a sign of weakness and I cannot be weak around you can I? Oh, no. I cannot. It would be as if I exposed my jugular to the waiting leopard who is crouched, readying itself for a strike. So I hide away. Tuck it away like a stray hair over the ear. An annoyance towards a flaw in my character. I hide it away. But if only you did see.
Dad I truly love you. Deep down. Through this muck of judgements, bitterness and harshest of words . I wish to mend our bond. But it can’t not only be me? So why can’t you see?!
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I know what u feel.....bcz I have a father whom I hate to call one
ReplyDon’t we all. It’s hard. To have someone who shares the same blood as you but not the same perspective. Someone who you thought was a person that you Look up to protect you, guide you. But he isn’t. He’s none of those.
ReplyYour story truly is sad ...I kind of relate to it..but just stay strong ... Things will work out..but the other thing ...the way you're expressing your feelings ... You are really talented .....your writing literally sounds like a poem ....
ReplyThanks, no one has ever called me talented before. Your words make me happy. Extremely. :D. I wrote this out of the confusion in my heart. Like I hate my dad but I love him too.
I’m glad to all the people who can relate. I may write more. It’s the only thing that’s colouring my life at the moment.
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