You don’t behave

like you should.

All those movies

and sitcoms

gave me false hope.

Filled my brain

with nonsense.

I followed these

unrealistic ideals

blindly.

You were supposed

to be wonderful.

You were supposed

to be someone

who made me laugh

and took me places

and gave me a hug

at night

and said you loved me

and truly meant it.

Why did you let me down?

All the perfect examples,

all the good ones

were splattered across

the screen that you

were bound to.

How could you not have seen?

Why won’t you change?

Look and see

at what you’ve done to me.

Your child that you treated

like a vessel,

only meant to process

your complaints

and then stir up

a response

that agrees

with your hate,

just to stop you

from talking,

just to stop

everything.

If I oppose your point,

I’d be falling

into a guilt-infested

wormhole,

where all I hear

is you,

and that tone of your’s

that I hate.

No way out,

no one to help.

I can’t put up a fight.

You cut off my claws,

silenced my roars,

and kept me in a

restrictive cage,

deep inside

a secluded corner.

Open that heart

that you’ve got

tucked away.

How silly,

how stupid,

to think that you’d

ever be kind.

As selfish as they come.

My friend’s dad

is sweet,

as is her’s,

and his,

and theirs.

They know how to behave,

so why don’t you?