I’m not mad,
I’m just sad
so empty inside,
but I swear,
I haven’t always been like this.
I was Daddy’s little girl once,
sweet, naive,
careless and happy.
Then I grew up
and the sadness grew with me.
I couldn’t let it out,
so I bottled it all.
Being mean became my mask,
my way to hide the pain.
It still is.
But now I wonder
what’s the point anymore?