Daddy

My daddy hates me,
so he often threw his fits.
Well, Mumma denies it.
She says, "How ungrateful I am."
So many reasons, buts, it's and bits...
But none of them are valid.

My daddy hates me,
so I'm trying to find comfort,
the love from others.
Irony is, in search of a partner, they stumbled upon an unloved daughter.
I became too easy,
amusing but unnecessary, 'cause they love hard to get
(you would bet).
They don't even bother!

Well, I hate my daddy too!
It's mutual—
as clear as crystal;
everything— his fists, words, hate,
his disgrace
towards me.

Funny how all the memories of my childhood are vivid and gone,
but I remember my daddy hating me.
Oh, poor Ted, my Ted— I remember how he gushed all anger towards you and threw.
Right eye gone, across the room it flew.
Sometimes it was the TV remote, or my nose he blew.
It was all blood, painted with blood—
my memory, my Ted, my pillow— everything with blood, he drew.

Why, but it's clear,
in the corner of my mind, how he threw me across, pulling my hair.
But my mother claims they gave up on their life to take care
of ours. I swear they were never there.
He was never there.
For me— at least.

First, I craved love, but I don't know what it feels like,
so attention was all I ever wanted.
I tried—
for one pat on the back, I lied.
If that's what it takes, I cried.

Once I engraved the whole book,
so my marksheet was all straight A's.
Finally, they'd be proud;
Finally, I'd be seen.
No, they never seemed to care;
happiness— it was all gone in one blink.

I was never the problem.
He just hated me.
Maybe because I was problematic, or because I was an unwanted girl.
Sure thing is, he hated me.
But it's fine— I hate him, and I made sure he knew.
And worse is, I love him more.
I wish he did, too.