'Friday 11:24 PM' by Ravyn LaRue

For all my life you’ve blamed everything on me.

You pick and choose the truth to fit your world-view, and make me out to be the ingrate.

It has nothing to do with that, and once again you’re going on and on about how you’ve dedicated your life to me.

That doesn’t mean you’re a good person, and that doesn’t at all help me.

You just like to manipulate and make me feel worse than all the demons in existence ever could.

And you’re off laughing- don’t think I can’t hear you.

My voice is shot from screaming, but I cannot do this anymore.

You like to do everything you can to make me feel like my emotions aren’t valid.

You make the world side with you, by the charming thought of blind obedience.

But you use the very few crucial good moments of childhood to rip my very soul apart.

And I just won’t stand for it.

You come back and confront me with crocodile tears and back handed apologies.

And I just can’t explain it.

You break my fucking heart.

You blame me for the worst things imaginable, and claim I’m overreacting when I vehemently deny those accusations.

One minute you call me baby-girl, the next second: Bitch.

I can’t deal with this.

And you make me feel so entirely dependent on you, because I am, and I can’t keep on, but I have no other choice.

People say I’m overreacting, I’m a teenager and a female, and thus have both those going against me in these situations.

But they’d never believe me anyways.

You seem so sweet in public, whereas I seem like a lunatic.

I’d be the one locked away, and you’d go on thinking you’re an innocent little martyr, whenever anyone dares to slightly challenge your absolute bullshit.

No one would believe me, not even my family or closest friends.

You make me feel like I owe you, because we are blood, and I originated from you.

But that shouldn’t be true whatsoever.

Because if everything you do is for me, no wonder you’re such an awful person.

You say my circumstances weren’t that bad, despite your own desperation to leave.

Once again, you’re the martyr, I’m the drama queen.

But I cannot be silenced as much as you bloody-well try.

You’ve trained me to be meek and submissive, but I’m rising above that futureless fate.

And you just despise that fact.

People say I’ll regret it, they claim I’m picking fights with the perfect parent, and that I just long for the taste of conflict.

But that is entirely idiotic.

I love when we get along, but those rose-colored-glasses disappear at times like this, when you prove your kindness was just a facade.

You have so much hatred for me- it’s as if I’m your pincushion, you take out everything upon me, and you scream and cry when I begin to pull the pins out of my chest.

I don’t understand you at all when you’re like this.

But this side of you is obviously more prominent and has always existed.

It’s proof that I really don’t have one good parent.

You make me feel like I’d be better off dead, and if that’s how you want your child to feel- you’ve far surpassed success.