Here I am,
once again.

It’s 11:00 p.m.

No words.
Shot nerves.

How am I supposed to sleep?

I’m staring at my phone screen.

Check it once, twice,
wait, check it again,
maybe something popped up between the time it took me to blink.

But it’s still the same.
No notifications.

It’s 11:00 p.m.

Bits of conversation float through my head.
There are a million things I want to text, to say, but how do I even begin?

The sun still rises
The earth stills turns
Life still goes on,
but you’re not here.

I wish I took up your offer to go golfing, just once.

You would’ve let me win anyways.
You always did.

Rest well.

Why?

It’s not fair.
How could they do that?

I’m sick of being hated for existing.

Why do they hate me so much?
What did I do?
It’s not my fault.
I can’t do anything.

Why?

I could have saved her.
I failed.
Please forgive me.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Today my knee popped again.
For the fifteenth time since it's began.

Skinned palms from breaking my fall.
Again, the hot blade of searing pain.
I hate how these are things I can perfectly recall.

I've sworn myself not to cry;
instead, my body goes into shock.
Screaming as if I were to die.

Catching my breath, the agony is finally over.
I used to be helped up from the ground.
But now, I get the cold shoulder.

In Phy Ed. class, they whispered that it was for attention.
I found that funny, considering I hate that.
And the brace, I would never mention.

Hey you.
Yeah, you.
You're newly 14, I'm newly 16.
Here is my advice to you.

I know you're broken.
I know you're tired.
I know you're hurt.
And guess what?
You will still be broken, tired, and hurt.

****'s pretty tough right now, yeah?
Well, boy do I have news for you.
It's only going to get more difficult.

Remember when you said you'd never cut
because the thought made you sick?
Well, a year later, you can guess what happened.
Don't worry, you've been clean for a month.

If there's anything you should know, it's this;
Stop trying to do everything yourself.
Stop lying to Mom, and stop thinking that Dad is mean.
They really do love you, trust me.
And if you don't trust anyone else, at least trust yourself.

Please talk to Mom.
Don't shut yourself away in your room.
Spend time with her while you still can.
You don't know it yet, but...she only has a few years left.
Make those years the best of your life, not the worst.
You don't know it yet, but she won't see you graduate college.
She won't see you get married, or open your first art gallery.

Don't procrastinate on those essays.
Putting them off won't get rid of the fact that you still have to write them.
While we're on the topic, be more open with your teachers.
Don't let them call you the wrong name because it makes things "easier".
Tell them who you are.
They will accept you.
They have to accept you.
It's against the law for them to discriminate.

More than anything, don't be afraid.
Don't be afraid to be who you are.
Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself.
Don't be afraid to try. new. things.

And on a sadder note, yes, you did eventually attempt suicide.
You still haven't even told your friends yet, you're afraid that it'd break them.

Don't focus too much on the worst parts.
You will move on from that toxic relationship.
You will be able to love again.
Although, you will always still flinch.
That may never go away.

The path you're on is filling with ***-holes, bumps, and steep hills.
Keep trudging on.
You were never one to choose the easy route.
Hell, life didn't even give you an option.
But I know that you're determined.
I believe in you.

Know this;
You might not think so, but you're very important.
If you can't live for yourself, live for your friends.
They need you.
I need you.

Keep your head up kid.
It's going to get tough.
But you're pretty tough too.
In the meantime, stay alive.
There are people here who need you.
You're going to do great things.
Stay strong.
Stay proud.
Be you.

- Ren

I had a dream that I lost you.

The ground below had shattered and fallen, leaving you over an endless void.
White knuckles from clenching the railing,
you were barely holding on.

I was on the other side of this railing, safe on a sturdy platform.
You looked up at me with wild eyes, beads of sweat trickling down your face.
I outstretched my hand.

A hoarse whisper, from chapped lips, "You don't have to do this,"
I wasn't sure why I had said that.
After all, this situation hadn't been your choice.

Still, you clung there, unmoving. Just....staring.
I took matters into my own hands, and leaned over the railing,
grabbed you by the wrists in an iron manacle grip.

And then the flood came.

A torrent of rushing water broke through the chasm
as if a dam had broken wide open.
The raging currents roared their threats at us.

Your fear quickly turned to sudden confidence,
a grim smirk spread across your face.
Ripping away from my grip.

And before I could blink
You hurled yourself into the depths
Blood-curling, piercing screams.

Pinching my arms,
I can't wake up.

It wasn't a dream that I lost you.

So bored, scrolling through social media sites.
I see you've updated.
Excited, I message you.
Just a simple, "Hi."

Shortly, I realize my mistake.
The recent picture, it shows you with your friends.
Laughing, having fun.

I remembered what you said yesterday.
"I'll be at the carnival tomorrow!"
Your face in the photo looks so, so happy.
Smiling brightly, eyes shining.
All the things I could never make you feel.

What's the point anymore?
I delete my message.
You won't be answering anyways.
You're out there, having a great day.
And where am I?

Just here.
Wherever that is.
Sitting, staring at this screen, watching, waiting.
It's all too much to handle, imagining you today out with your buddies.
Playing in the sun, on the carnival rides
without me.

We used to be close, so close.
What happened?
I was thrown out, like a broken toy.
Tell me, to you, am I nothing at all?

Unbearable.
I scroll past the picture trying to hold in the tears.
It's all too much.
I can't do this anymore.
I can't pretend.
It hurts, it hurts so much.
I know, deep down, I still love you.

Even though I cut that ribbon, it's weaving back.
Why now?
It shouldn't do that, you clearly didn't care.
So why still do I?

I clutch my chest, let out that sob.
The tears come falling.
The ribbon's back.
I'm sorry.
I don't want to hurt you.
I feel so, so, alone.

I'm so sorry.
I fell in love with you all over again.
It's torturous.
Once again, I'm feeling alone.

If I don’t cut the threads on my legs,
will gravity finally pull me down?

Am I doomed here to drown?

“  Don’t ask me how I’ve been
unless you’re prepared.

Truth is, I haven’t been great, but that’s
predictable.   “

I’m not even looking at her anymore.
Just staring at the ceiling, this deadpan expression carved into my stone face.

She asks me if I need anything.

I just laugh.
Bitter, cruel.
This is past the breaking point.

“  No, no.
It’s too late.

You’re too late.  “

This is a poem about friends.
Like poems, friendship can end.

Friendships are like a poem.
Complex, or simple, friendships feel like home.

Some friendships are short, others are long.
Friendship is a recognizable song.

That all know the words to by heart.
"A friendship like ours," they say, "will never fall apart."

Alas, this promise isn't always true.
Friendships can shatter or fade, leaving us blue.

Despite this, there are billions of others we can befriend.
Ones from which we can hear the truth behind, "'Til the end?'"

I want to live forever with you,
when our bones intertwine and turn to dust
I see the future with you
I trust myself in that

I can taste the red in the sunset we'll paint when we go

Like a swamp ****
it grows in the boiling water of saucepans.
That seems to be the only way people cook it.
It's slimy and soggy
and tastes of death.
The corpse of a once thriving plant,
now in the coffin of the saucepan.
Disgusting.
Revolting.
Why would anyone see that ditch ****
and think,
"Looks edible!"
Obviously they were very wrong.

Thought I knew this well.
every step I had to take,
every lie--delivered smiling--I had to sell,
every mindless task, no breaks.

Thought you knew of my own created, designer hell.
watching me falter towards an imaginary goal,
watching my fibs for tells,
watching my to-do list quadruple.

I thought I knew how to quit,
how to snap out of it.
I thought you knew about it,
and how to deal with this ****.

Turns out that neither of us knows jack-squat.
And that's alright, I swear I got this, yeah I'm good, I can do it.
I hoped for you to say something, I thought you knew I was talkin' *******.
Yet, without a word, you left
me to rot.

Don’t dwell on it.

Be free.

I love you guys.

Cold hands,
pale skin,
blue eyes.

Snowflakes,
ice skates,
gray skies.

Bad news,
illness consumes,
happy dies

Cracked lips,
fake smile,
telling lies.

Lonely boy,
wondering if
he can fly.

Bleeding knuckles,
broken body,
sobbing, "why?"

Rainy day,
dressed in black,
try not to cry.

Cold hands,
pale skin,
glass eyes.

Poets constantly compare
saying “this” is like “that”

If there’s anything I learned from comparison
It’s how it can **** you slowly as a poison of  expectancy.

So, to put it simply,
You are not like anything else.
There is no comparison to you,
Because you are you and nothing else I could ever describe can come close to you.

Maybe we didn’t have to fall asleep
to be blind to what we see.
We used to stay up late,
wishing upon the stars.
Hoping for someone to hear us.
I wanted to be something greater,
change something for the better.

But any astronomer can tell you
that those stars aren’t real anymore.
They’ve died long ago.
They’ve left me staring at the ceiling in the dark,
awaiting something that will never embark.

Once, and again, and again.
How many times will I hear the same words?
The same diagnosis?

I can tell you all about how it’s not fair and how I’m sick of the people I love being told how long they can expect to live.
But this is so common.

Get over it, right?

Until I hear it again.

Whelp.
Once again, this ******* ****** up.
I tried to help her, but I just made everything a million times worse.

I ended up leaving her sobbing there.
How can I ever come back from that?
She probably hates me.
It's justified.
It'll take some time before I can forgive myself for being a ******* waste of space.

I recently looked at pictures of me.
*******, I'm ******* ugly as ****.
Mirrors don't bother me, it's pictures that do.
All that ******* disgusting acne.

Such a fat, pudgy face.
No discernable cheekbones.
It makes me want to take a knife and sculpt my own face.

I told myself I'd wait until after my birthday.
I don't want Christmas associated with death.
I always tell myself to wait.
Why?

Maybe I hope that by then, I'd forget all this **** inside my head.
It's never worked.
It never will work.
There's nothing, nothing will stop these thoughts.

I write these as a way to cope, but it doesn't work.
I wash my face twice every day to make myself look presentable, but it doesn't work.
My mom is taking immunotherapy for her cancer, but it won't cure her.

Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing­
Nothing.

A mole on my arm has been hurting and getting darker each passing year.
I know what it is.
I know I'll die from it one day.
I can't control that.
It's a gene mutation, after all.
I might be medicated for that in the future, but it won't work.
Nothing will.

I could tell my friends what it is.
But they'd cry.
It's best to have them happy about a different way of death than to cry over a gene mutation.

She thinks she'd be sad if I left.
Lies.
I know she hates me.
I don't know why she talks to me and pretends to be a friend to me.

Maybe it's pity.
Another "friend" already told me that I was a pity friend to them.
So, I'm not surprised if she feels the same.
It makes things easier for me.

I seem troubled here, and she talks to her friend, having fun.
It's nice.
I don't necessarily have a closest friend.

My closest friend and I are becoming distant.
It *****.
I wish I could text her more.
Which I can, but it's something about me.

I'm terrible at maintaining only online friendships.
That's how one of my close friends and I don't talk anymore.
That was my own doing.

I sit and don't do much of anything.
I don't really draw anymore either.
It's not fun anymore.
Every time I draw, I just see the flaws.

Nothing is good enough and it never will be.
I don't know why I try.
I'm not good at anything.
I'm not good for anything.

When will you learn?
You don't play with fire unless you want to get burned.

Whoops.

that's what she told me.

But without it, who I am?
I don't think I would recognize myself.

“He’s actually been less angry since…well, probably since he thought I was going to die.”

I stop and stare at her. Didn’t expect her to say that, but it makes sense. I had forgotten about her diagnosis. “…right.”

“He hasn’t said that to me but from how he was during that time, I think that’s what he thought,” She explains, breaking eye contact. I don’t want to remember this. I don’t want to talk about this. She hugs her arms.

I flashback to the drive back home with him.

“The drainage port got infected and those idiots, the doctors, they didn’t notice.” His brow furrows, but his eyes betray his resolve, tearing up as he tells me. He wipes his face and clears his throat. “She nearly died from that, you know.”

I didn’t know. I was 15 and all I knew was that I was getting picked up from my at-the-time girlfriend’s house because he texted me that she was in the ICU. I lied to my ex. Told her it was an appointment. I was scared. I think I was in denial, probably. I know that I didn’t stay in the room with her very long because I couldn’t keep pretending like everything was okay.

I don’t like talking about this, but I don’t like pretending like it’s not reality, or ignoring her when she’s still clearly sick even when she’s not on chemo anymore.

Still. I hate the uncertainty. I hate not knowing how much longer I’ll have my mom for.

Back in the present again. “Maybe.” I reply.

I don’t even know how to write anymore.

I used to swim in this ocean of words and ideas.
Now it’s just sand.
Slipping through my fingers.

In the midst of the melancholic dusk,
soliloquies of the forgotten are hushed.

Those who listened snickered
at the surreal hopes of those
who search for their flicker.

For you see,
in a year not so long ago,
the Empathy did leave.

Ever since the start,
Empathy lived in the world’s heart.

He came to visit us every day.
His grin is warm and bright like sunbeams,
and he hides behind what the people say.

Empathy was the hero of the lost
His touch mended the broken spirits, although,
none of us knew it had such a hefty cost.

Is there a more affable friend that could possibly be,
than that of Empathy?

Empathy was a close friend of mine.
When I sang his somber song, he appeared.
The bourgeoisie had never seen anyone so divine.

There was something furtive in his eyes
as if he knew, somehow,
that he would have to bid me goodbye.

I asked him, “Empathy, what’s going on?”
He replied, “The light is fading. They have killed the dawn.”

And so I saw his words ring true.
The sun rose not,
The sky faded gray from blue.

The people of the world began to hate.
Abandoning Empathy, they set the universe ablaze.
Fire choked the sky, for us it was too late.

“Save yourself and run away!” I cried.
But Empathy, he shook his head, smiled, and died.

Once upon a time,
there were 12.
12 filled chairs.
1 full table.
12 full hearts.

Then, there were 8.
4 empty chairs.
And suddenly I blinked and---

10 empty chairs.
2 empty hearts.

11 empty chairs,
12 empty hearts.

Careful, watch your step.
There's plenty of shards on the floor.

Expected to know what to write.
Expected to fill these pages with wonderous words.
Expected to be good at that.
Expected to be a natural.
Expected to be the best.
Expected to be successful.
Expected to be more.
Expected to do more.
Expected to know what to say and exactly when to say it.
Expected to be kind, always.
Expected to be "normal".
Expected to grow up mentally past my years.
Expected to make a lot of money.
Expected to know what I want
Expected to know what I don't want.
Expected to get over it.
Expected to change more.
Expected to never change.
Expected to not be destructive.
Expected to always be happy.
Expected to make other people happy and keep them that way.
Expected to live.
Expected to recover.
Expected to want to recover.
Expected to live.
I've said that.

My last words to you were, "I'm sorry. I should've told you before I left."
And yours, "Don't abandon me."

My dear, these bottles shake-shake-shake in my hands, in my mind.

The decade is ending and I'm really not good with saying emotional stuff so I wrote a lil something for ya. I know I have a few other inspiriting poems, but you can never have enough.


Lemme start this off by saying how much I frickin love you guys.
Thank you for all the things you've done for me.
If it wasn't for you, I honestly have no idea where I'd be.
I've only known you guys for a few years, yet you've changed me so much for the better.
You've helped me become stronger and more confident with who I am.
You've helped me to not give up when things seem hopeless.
In my darkest moments, you guys were the lights guiding me back home.
I know that you always have my back just like how I always have yours.
Honestly, you guys need to know how frickin amazing you are.
You're worth so much more than anything of material value.
Thank you so much for being in my life.
If you ever need a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold you up, or someone to talk to, know that I'll always be there.
We've had our fair share of laughter, dumb jokes, arguments, and tears.
But through it all, every single second spent was a moment with you guys that I'll never regret.
Realize that whatever weird or crazy stuff happens between us, I'll always care about you guys.
I'll never stop caring about you guys.
Whatever next year brings, no matter how scary things will be, I know I'll make it through because I have you guys by my side.
Likewise, don't you ever give up.
Not as long as I'm here.
Because I believe in you guys.
As long as we're together in this world, I wanna make memories to last a lifetime that I can reflect on and know that I had a life well spent and a life that was fulfilling.
So let's go into 2020 with our heads held high.
Let's achieve something great this decade.
I love you guys.
Stay strong.
Stay proud.
And as always, thank you for being you.

"A man so flat and boobless you could skip him across a lake like a prized stone"

I showed my surgeon the text post, and she said
"We'll get you there!"

**** right, she did.
Staring into the mirror, I see all of me.

Mortal boundaries declaring who I've always known myself to be

Thank you for all of your support throughout the years, dear readers <3

Finally, finally, finally
I am free

He watches me close.
"Family," I say, "lose hope.
For I am not you."

Today,
1 year ago,

I killed her.

The first snow has fallen; oh how it sparkles in the sun!

All she wants to do is run around and have fun.

Yet, there is work to be done.

This battle she's fighting seems won.

But, no one can tell

from fear and pain, she runs.

My old name is dead to me.
That's why they call it a deadname.
The person who had that name breathes no more.
She was killed by my own hands.

She was named for both of her grandmothers,
some sort of sentiment to come from a careless mistake.
Maybe this is what made it so easy for me to **** her
because her name was a throw-away.

Her middle name came from the title of a movie
that her parents had once liked.
But the movie is old and bland, and the plot has no meaning.
So her names are futile attempts at trying to right a wrong,
trying to make up for something that can never be fixed.

I killed her.
I wanted her dead so badly,
so I killed her.

My name is Casey.

I am not heartless, though.
She wanted me to be Casey.
Although I killed her, she still means something to me.

I had to **** her in order to move on.
She knew that.
So I am Casey for her.

Casey.

It means spear.
A weapon.

Fitting for a murderer.

If I could be He,
I'd grin ear to ear.
I'd laugh with a new voice,
and sing with boisterous cheer.

If I could be He,
I'd dance the night away.
I'd twirl around a girl,
and ask her if she'd stay.

If I could be He,
I'd no longer have to bind.
I'd lay shirtless on the beach,
and leave bottled messages to find.

If I could be He,
which I might never be,
I'd be eternally happy.
And I'd finally be me.

you had your eyes on him for a while,
and i could tell that you really did love him.

for a while, you guys were happy together.
i was happy for you because you were happier than ever before.

but i wish that i told you what i had discovered earlier that year.
that while going after another's heart we often use our own as a stepping stone.

it wasn't until you came running into my arms, crying, after musical practice
that my resolve shattered.

it had been two wonderful months between you two,
but nothing good ever lasts, as you discovered.

I held you close as you choked out the words, explaining what happened.
"he's been looking at others," you sobbed into my shoulder.

"and...and, i asked him if he loved me," you took a shaky breath, barely able to squeak out the next words. "....he said no"

you broke away from our embrace, still unable to control your misery.
i hated that i couldn't help you.

but as the philosophers did say, history repeats itself.
and two weeks later you and him are friends again.

i see the way you look at him.
even though he shattered your heart, you still love him.

i'm okay that it's not me.
as long as you're happy, i'll be happy.

like how two wrongs don't make a right,
two broken people don't make a stable relationship.

It rains a little
It rains a little
It rains a little
Rain song
It rains a little

Cleanse the heart.
Cleanses the skin, cleanses and relieves pain.
"Very good. Too bad."

Sing a clear song
Hurt the lungs
If you want to change your name, humble yourself and know that you will not be insulted.
"Nobody believes you. You're lying."

Become a holy soul.
The dragon flew through the air.
By strong winds and terrible falls.
"What you see next is good.”

I can't sing on my own.
His voice turned green.
Heavy rains filled my heart
The sun is on
Honey, they took me to a beautiful place.

I hate being right about things
that I don’t want to be right about

Shame on me.
Guess I should’ve known better than to hope.

I’ve spent 6 years waiting,
lost and confused,
stumbling my way through the dark.
Slipping rocks into my pockets to weigh myself down.

Thought about giving up reaching the surface too many times to count.

I’ve finally been handed a flashlight.
I’m going to find my way out of here.

And of course, I might get lost on the way.
The flashlight might burn out.
But I’m not going to back down anymore.

It’s time to recover.

I wanna write a song
I wanna tell the whole world something on my mind
Make it catchy and fun and rhyme
But I’m afraid I’d get it all wrong

I wanna write a song
And sing it for everyone to hear
But my voice isn’t that great and my uke sits unplayed
I’m sure nobody would sing along

Oh look what I’ve done
In spite of it all, in the height of it all
I’ve put the words on the page, I’ve won.
Despite the stupid insistence of my thoughts; so persistent
I’ve gone and wrote a song

I want to make someone proud
Not in the way they’ve told me they are
I want to see it on their face and be able to tell
Without them saying it aloud

I just wanna write a song
It doesn’t even have to make any sense (cents?)
I really wanna put something out there
And prove to myself what I’ve know all along

Oh look what I’ve done
In spite of it all, in the height of it all
I’ve put the words on the page, I’ve won.
Despite the stupid insistence of my thoughts; so persistent
I’ve gone and wrote a song

And I know it doesn’t seem like much but to me it’s a first
Here’s to all of the others who think everything they make is the worst

We weren't ready to love;
on that, we agreed.

And now as we part ways, you ask
if you killed my muse?

No, darling,
just halted temporarily.

Lies, for it is worse.
Every past love has killed a part of me.

I’ve been thinking about writing this for a while but I got stuck on how I thought it should sound and look and read so i thought to myself “**** it” and decided to just write down exactly what i want to say.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to say what I feel, actually scratch that, all the time I don’t know how to say what I feel. I wanted to write this as a nice cute song but I got hung up on trying to make stuff rhyme and it’s not about it being good to anyone else I just crave approval so I know that I didn’t **** up. But enough about me.

This is for you and you know who you are and if you don’t, well then, if it resonates with you then it’s for you.


I don’t know how to describe how I feel love, but I know that I feel it.
It’s not something I can pin down with a word like other people can, how they say “exhilarating” and “selfless”.
It feels like a fluttering, an overwhelming joy, but at the same time it feels nothing like that, it feels like a cool breeze off the lake.
So, for me, the feeling of love is always changing.
But I can see it.
I can see how I love you when I look at pictures of us.
I can see my love when I feel my eyes crinkle and my cheeks ache from a smile.
Everyone around me has always tried to define my love for me, but my love is not like theirs because it is subtle and quiet.

I’ve been working on saying it out loud when I feel it.
If it’s ever changing for me, it must be confusing as hell to everyone else.
Because others have tried to identify what they think is my love based on what they think they know love to be.
It is not a universal feeling, I understand.
So, you may see a blank face sometimes, but I provide the clarity, and I say,

I love you.

Sometimes I get tired of my body
Not in a self-hate way,
More of like a disdain for all the things I have to deal with

Tired of the stiff, clunky joints
Not bad enough to warrant a diagnosis,
yet not functional enough to get through a week without some kind of ache or pain

Sometimes I wish it would just hurry up and get worse instead of being in this in-between,
In a place where a professional would excuse it as something I brought upon myself rather than an actual problem

The matter of fact is,
I am 20 and losing flexibility and mobility of my joints, mainly in my hands
This started in February of 2023, and has been getting worse.
So much so that even when I don’t aggravate my hands (for example: by taking a **** ton of notes at uni) they can still hurt

It was July, and I was at the zoo with my mom.
It was going to rain later that day, and I could feel that in my hand joints.
Which was a first.
My hands flared up so much that by the end of the day I needed to wear my compression gloves.
This lasted for about a week, with the first two days being the worst.
This was the first time that my hands hurt without me having done a lot of writing.

I haven’t had a random flare up since then.
My hands have been hurting about every day now that I’m in uni, but it’s manageable.
I haven’t needed my gloves yet.
It’s mostly because I need to write a **** ton for uni and I can’t use my computer because I don’t retain information by typing.
It’s not writers cramp.
It’s in my knuckles.
The joints of my fingers.
I know this will only get worse.

My mom thinks it could be rheumatoid, since that runs in our family, but I don’t get swelling.

My left wrist hurts sometimes, and my knees hurt if they don’t have support when I’m sitting.
My hips hurt if I stand or sit for too long as well.

So I guess
Overall
Something is not working like how it’s meant to.

But until something break breaks, I guess I’ll never know.

Today is the 29th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.
I should know.
I had a report on it for my final last year.
Funny how that works.
Now it's stuck in my head forever until I forget again.

I know I will.
I always forget.
It's a symptom.
My ******-up head is destroying my memory.

I can remember basic things, but I forget things that occur.
I don't remember what I ate for dinner yesterday.
I don't remember what I talked to Blake about yesterday,
so I don't remember why he's mad at me.

It *****.
It makes me come off as uncaring when I forget these details about somebody.
That's probably why she sees me as uncaring.
That's not true.
I do care about her.
It's difficult to express for me.

I was raised in a way that didn't include the teaching of sympathy or empathy.
I know this sounds horrible, but if my dad left, I wouldn't be sad.
I wouldn't be happy either, but I wouldn't be sad.
He's already shown what he thinks of me.

I've never good enough.
I get a 4.0 for a semester and a 3.9 the rest of the year and I need to "try harder".
He's always telling me, "you're not trying," or "you're not listening", and I hate it.

How would he know about what I think and feel?
He's not me.
He's set on me being this perfect ******* angel child that I can never be.
He tells me that I'll never be able to pursue an art career and should focus more on studying than drawing.

I don't care.
I WILL be an artist.
I don't care how long it takes.
I'll be an artist and shove it in his face when I have my own studio and open a gallery.

**** the nonbelievers.
I can fly planes AND draw.
Just watch me.
If I don't off myself by then.