This house is not a home.

I have a job. A job I got all on my own.

My job isn’t good enough. I should look for another one, or work for a person I hate so I can make more money.

I try to be my best as a daughter.

My best isn’t good enough.

I try to tell her how I feel.

I alienate or offend her.

I try to get ahead, try to live my own life.

They insist on holding me back.

Sometimes I think about telling her.

I hurt myself. I still hurt myself. I can’t stop. And it’s all his fault.

Would you like to know how I got these scars?

I haven’t even been home a week, and I’ve cried myself to sleep almost every night.

I think it’s funny that my sister thinks our relationship would be solved if we just sat down and “hashed things out.”

I couldn’t go to the college I fell in love with because he lied to me. I lost a great opportunity, because he lied to me. I got my hopes up for nothing, because he lied to me.

So instead I put myself (90% of the time) through my first year of school at a community college, which even though I’m getting a great education at, I still sometimes wonder what would have happened if I could have went to Caz.

I pay all my bills, buy my own clothes, take responsibility for my actions (and sometimes even the actions of others), am for the most part a responsible adult, and he treats me like a fuck up. Because I have a pierced lip, a few tattoos, and actual FRIENDS who like to spend time with me.

And he expects me to be grateful.

Sorry I’m not at home much.

Sorry I’m not an A+ student.

Sorry you fucked up your life, so now you feel like you have to fuck up mine too.

Sorry I try my fucking hardest and I still can’t live up to your standards.

I really hope you enjoy the next three months, dad.

Because after this, I won’t be home again.