Why did you only love me when I made you proud?
Why didn’t you help me when I asked for it?

Why did you threaten to leave me behind?
To send me away?
To give me to someone else?

Why did you blame your illness on me?
Why did you say I wouldn’t even cry if you died?
Why did you tell me I could leave anytime —
And never show my face again?

Why do you still say things that hurt?

I hate that I can’t talk to you.
I hate that I can’t ask for help —
Can’t ask for something I need, like other kids do.

I hate that I have to hide the cuts.
That I have to lie about the bruises.
That I have to pretend I’m okay.

I hate coming home.

Why did you treat me like an adult when I was still just a child?
Why did you guilt-trip me...
And then confess why you did it —
As if that made it okay?

Why did you do that?
Why did you hurt me like that?