Because guess what? I cried.
I cried when you gave me a shirt. Because that's what Dads do.
I couldn't let you see me cry,
because that would be weak
and if anyone hates weakness, it's you.
Because guess what? You scare me.
I'm scared to death that I mess up.
Because guess what? I don't dye my hair anymore.
So you don't see me be myself.
I push down feelings and desires and questions and fight an oncoming storm of hate telling me I'm stupid.
I drink, and I do stupid ****, and I yell and I talk too loud and I'm afraid of drowning
and people see it and think, "He'll never be liked, look at how fat he is! How badly his clothes fit!"
because guess what? I'm scared to ask you things. I'm scared to ask for new clothes. Because guess what, dad? You weren't there.
And as long as I have fast food cups in my bedroom, you'll be there -
yelling that I can't do math.
in denial, scaring me, showing me your way
showing me your anger and how you can't believe you ****** me up
how you can't believe I'm scrambled like an egg
and how I gotta fight this, how I gotta fight myself because you're here
because I'm scared to fight you instead.