I've never had a good relationship with my father.

The moment I started forming opinions of my own,
The moment I started to spit fire and venom,
Instead of smile in a sugary sweet way at every turn,
He decided I wasn't really worth all the effort,
Or any kindness whatsoever.

He thinks I know too much,
Or I know too little.
He thinks I talk too much,
Or I talk too little.

He thinks I'm too cold,
Or foolishly warm.
He thinks I'm too open,
Or much too closed off.

My father cares more about a bottle,
Than he ever cared about me.
And you wonder why I have trouble
Bringing myself to drink.

And the thing I hate most about me,
Is that I prefer the smell of books
Over the smell of flowers,
And that I prefer the typing of a keyboard
Over the notes of a piano.
I'd drink scotch over wine,
Every time.

And that's my father's blood
Running through my veins,
And I hate the person
He's made.

I am cold and I don't trust.
I don't smile and I don't laugh.
I have a hot temper
And I always react.

My father is the type of guy
Who goes on and on about being liberal,
But thinks dancing wrong
Or touching someone the wrong way
Is an invitation
For ***.

And if I disagree,
We fight and we fight,
And he's ashamed of me,
But I don't care anymore.

And you can agree with any point he's made,
But you disagree with one key factor
And you're the enemy,
And you're wrong.

He thinks people who are on medication
Are always wrong.
And he thinks people who don't take meds,
But need them,
Are batshit.

My father doesn't care about
Others feelings
Or the damage he does,
He sometimes only cares about
His pride
And his ******* scotch and *****.

I am hot headed
And stubborn.
I am a smart aleck,
And I'm way too sarcastic.

But I am my father's daughter.

And I hate the person he's made.