My dads room was often dusty.
He had...things in there.
Things that would strike a childs curiosity.
Exept
It wasnt my curiosity.
He got home from work
Us kids were home alone.
He saw little fingerprints on his dresser.
I was called up to his room
He snatched my hand
Pulled my thumb
And planted a print right next to the crime scene.
My thumb matched the other one.
I pleaded with him that it wasnt me.
And it wasnt.
But he hit me
And told me i was lying
He told me he wouldn't stop until i admitted it
So i lied.
I told him i did it
I didn't.
I was treated like a dog
Had nothing to do with the situation
Just his way of ******* my head.
He
Made me lie
About a truth
That was easy to tell.
I didnt go up there
Someone else did
But like always
I fell for the crime i didnt commit.
Who the **** lies and says he did something that he didn't.
It happened all the time.
I was
I am
A truthful person.
But he made me lie
About being a liar.
And thats how he kept it.
****.