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Deciding Who I Am

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I don’t know whats wrong with me. All he does is say one word, give one look, and I snap. I can’t help it. After each time, I swear I’ll be better. I won’t speak, won’t give him any reason to antagonize me further. And yet each time my actions prove me wrong. All I want is the respect to explain my side, share my thoughts, before his harsh words drill themselves into my skin. All I want is to be heard. But apparently, that is to much to ask. No, after but one second the tears begin to swell in my eyes, my breathing becomes hitched and voice strains. I can not control myself, and it kills me inside. Then the words come; “baby”, “immature”, “pathetic”. Like I don’t all ready know I am a failure in every way. Like I don’t already know he wishes I could be someone else, that he had one child, not two. Even as a babe I knew I was not his favorite. Oh, he made that clear countless times. And still, it is only around him I have no walls to protect myself with, I am free to be tortured whenever he pleases. I still am just a small animal to him that is too stupid to understand the world. He has no idea how much of the world I have really seen. No idea what I’ve been through. He’s always gone. And then he comes home and greets me with an insult, deciding what I had done and where I had been. Deciding who I was. Deciding who I am.




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