This is why I didn't want to come home this winter break
Not because of my mother, or my sister
But because of mornings like this when he wakes up in a bad mood
Mornings like this when every little unimportant detail in the past few days or week becomes something to be angry about
Mornings like this when I have to watch someone cry
This is why I want my mother to leave him
Not because of the times when he's acting nice
But because of mornings like this when he picks at everything she does
Mornings like this, which taken one by one are small but which she's been enduring for over twenty years
Mornings like this which are nothing compared to what he could do and has done before
This is why I'm a masochist
Not just because I'm an artist
But because of mornings like this which used to be the only thing I knew
Mornings like this which made me think that in order to love someone, you have to hurt them
Mornings like this when I don't know how to love him anymore
