You will never admit if you are proud of me.
That word will never be heard
Uttered from behind your blistered lips
Between your cracked teeth
Locked into your chiseled and hardened jaw line.
If one is to make it out
It will never be directed at me.

Recently, the closest I've gotten to such vernacular is
Words that insinuate this meaning.
You tell me how much I do
And how you were wrong in calling me
Lazy, slovenly, and unmotivated.
You then however
Say a few more things that I could be doing.
You are never content with me as I am
Then you wonder why I feel the same way.

Your trenchant criticism ignites a spark
Inspires me to work harder
But sometimes that is until I just can't take it anymore
Until I fall apart.
Never do you notice
Before it is too late to reel me in.

It is never before you get a call from the guidance department
An email from a friend
A report from my therapist
That you begin to put on a show
Act like you care.
Maybe you do,
But it also seems to annoy the hell out of you
Every time I dig myself into a hole.

Maybe I want you to listen without speaking.
Maybe I want you to notice without confrontation.
Maybe I want you to help me without accusations.
Maybe I just want you to be proud of me always
Including when I **** up.