We have our moments. You're kind and loving. Yet, there's a part of me that will always remember the pain you give. We fight. A lot. Yet, you always make me the enemy. As if I want to fight as if I start the fight as if I make it worse. You tell me you hear me, that you listen. But I know you don't care. If you did you wouldn't disrespect me so.
Our conversations aren't always a fight, though there are many that are. I can't do anything right, I'm just spoiled, selfish, and entitled. You always told me to respect you. Yet, I never get the same respect.
"Take responsibility for your own actions," you say. Yet, you never do it yourself.
"Don't roll your eyes at me," you say, yet, here you are. Doing the exact thing you tell me not to do.
"Don't interrupt."
"Don't do this."
"Don't do that."
I say the same to you, and suddenly those things don't matter. I can't do it, yet you can. You love me so much, you send your hate. Some day, you might regret it. Someday I'll be gone, and you won't know. Yet, I hope that's not the case. I hope I can keep you in my life. I hope that one day, when I'm gone, you'll understand how wrong you are. You'll understand that what I say you do to me is true. That you were hurtful. That I didn't deserve it. You treated me like dirt, only useful when you wanted me to be.
The love you give is one no daughter should face. Yet, I'm the lucky one. Who's told I'm loved, yet hated so?
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Vent Writing
Short StoryWhat is vent writing? It's writing without a particular character. Writing without a particular story. It can be a poem. It can be anything you write that centers around your emotions. Perhaps an indirect letter to someone. Just anything that gets...
