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?