He's a stupid, selfish *******.
An immature little boy in a man's body who wanted to be like his father and get away from his mother.
Joining the military was--for him--like a little girl wishing to be a princess.
I could never convince him otherwise, even with facts and statistics and love.
He didn't want to stay for me, didn't want to stay with me.
But I don't care about that part.
I care that he's a stubborn little **** who thinks he's going to be a hero in people's eyes.
But it's not heroic if you ache for the recognition, the fame and glory and honor.
"So I can be somebody" he says.
So people will shake his hand in the store, he means.
He wants so badly to be this stereotype
that he will ignore the people
who love him,
and someday
he will become a crying,
scared,
traumatized mess in his bed sheets,
when the wars are done.
I only congratulate myself for leaving him,
because I won't be around when that happens.
This is what you left me for, Boy.
I hope it's worth it.
I hope you make your Daddy proud,
because I didn't.
I can't hug you goodbye
because of that
awful thing you did to me.
I blame you.
I blame you for everything.
For throwing away
everything we could have had
like it was a messy drawing.
You should have hit me,
screamed at me--something!
Should've done something more than cheat on me
because I still love you.
And for that, I hate you.
You stupid, selfish boy,
not letting me send you off
before you fight for your pride--
oops, I mean
America.