You twisted my mind,
With your words and your lies.
You stole away my childhood,
In every way that you could.
You haunt my life even though you’re gone.
You’ve changed the words in my head for so long.
You still said you were my father,
But now I see you,
And know you’re just a monster.
Words can’t describe how I feel about you.
“I hate you,” isn’t even close to a clue.
“I hope you die,” seems morbid, but still oddly true.
Although I’ll admit, I still love you somehow,
Because hate is born from love turned foul.
I always find myself wondering how things would stand
If you’d just held it together, and put down your hands.
There’s so much evil that has been entwined in your life,
But I still sometimes wish you had put up a fight.
Defeating you’re illness wasn’t the impossible,
Then I remember it was partly optional.
Your disease was a fraction, a piece of a bigger whole.
Still, without that disease, your heart was just as cold.
Schizophrenia isn’t a good enough excuse,
For committing acts of rape and abuse.
That was just you, I must sadly admit.
You’re sickness isn’t what made you sick.
All of your sins where your own choices.
Nobody made you, not even the voices.
I want you to feel all the things my mother felt,
All the hate and neglect my sister was dealt.
You deserve worse than anything I can think up,
More than cancer or murder, or being fucked up.
If hell is real, then that’s where you’re going,
But even that’s not justified, not even you burning.
The worst part, though, is that you’re the one who made me,
A fraction of that fraction is embedded in my psyche.
Will I succumb to my genes, will I grow to be you?
Will I hurt those around me, like those around you?
Can a statistic determine the path my life takes?
Is thirteen percent too much at stake?
- Your daughter.