As a child, my father brought us up what others called well.
Well behaved, well mannered, well in every possible way...
... But behind closed doors, well became a must.
You MUST behave, you MUST have manners, you MUST be the best in every possible way...
Well, it became forced
Fun became hate
Love became envy
And happy became sad.
It wasn't as bad when I was still a child because children don't know they have free will or a say in the matter when father was the one who's talking
and as I grew older, he broke me, and he made me bleed without leaving a bruise. Draining every little bit of life out of me. He made me into his perfect little trophy that did everything he said without question.
Most of my childhood existed of trail and error, mostly error, and for every mistake, a punishment followed.
My father never laid his hands on us, but we sure as hell did. We punished ourselves in ways that's not even humane.
Drowning in the words that he keeps repeating,
you are not worthy,
look at you,
what disappointment you are,
look how you are dragging MY name true the mud.
These are the constant reminders that no matter what we do, we will never be good enough. Not to him.
YOU ARE READING
Val's thoughts
Poetrythe words I wish to say... A/n if you would like to have more info please check out my Instagram account. Val.intiena And thank you so much for reading 🌙❤️
