I am trying to have good days
And some start
Which is progress for me
But it’s like your agenda to make sure they don’t end that way
I feel like I can’t breathe around you
How am I still a child with you
The constant mood shifts
The loud unnecessary crying and cursing at me
I have NEVER hurt you
Yet here we are
Being crucified for boiling pasta at 830pm
Despite not eating all day somehow meals are illegal
The "son of a bitch" you think you’re mumbling
I always overhear
I hate you and I know I don’t mean that
But this is the closest I get to that feeling
I fight with you in my head
Because I’d never say these things aloud
But you make me think the luckiest of your children is the one who is dead
And maybe that’s the only way to be happy in this family
But then you stroll in and ask what pasta sauce I used
And eat the dinner I made
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