I am so fucking suck of you hitting me. I am so fucking sick of you telling me to go live somewhere else. I am so fucking sick of you blaming your bipolar. I am so fucking sick of you telling me that it’s going to stop. C’mon mom, i’m 14 now. I’m not five. I’m not stupid enough to believe that shit anymore. It’s never going to stop.
All i want is a loving mom and a nice house that’s out of the ghetto. But, i’ve decided to stop wishing. You’re never going to get off of your ass and work. You’re never going to love me enough to stop hitting me. That’s that.
So, yeah, i hit you back tonight. Even now, i want to go out in the living room, rip your fat ass off of the couch, and beat the ever living shit out of you. I want you to know how bad it hurts. I want you to know how much i hate you sometimes.
I miss the old you. The one who didn’t smoke anymore. The one who didn’t ask me if i was having sex 24/7, and the one who didn’t call me a whore even though i’ve never even had a steady boyfriend. The one who braided my hair every night and actually talked to me instead of yelling at me. So sure, we’ve had some good times, but even then you were still beating the shit out of me.
You’ve fucked me up enough and i’m tired of it all. I can’t wait until the next four years are over so i can leave and never come back.