Vent!
You should have never had children.
Not if love was going to be
a chore you resented,
a burden you carried like shackles,
a role you wore like a costume
only when people were watching.
You weren’t a parent
you were a ghost with a heartbeat.
You gave me food but starved my soul,
a roof but never shelter,
a body that came from yours
but never the warmth
that makes life worth carrying.
And I am furious.
Furious that I had to beg
for scraps of affection
like a stray dog at your feet.
Furious that you pretended
this was enough,
as if survival was the same as love.
You made me feel like a burden
when it was your choice to bring me here.
You made me believe I was unworthy
when the truth is
you were unfit.
Parenthood is not an accident,
it is a vow,
and you broke it the second
you treated me like nothing.
Some parents should never be parents.
Not if their love comes with conditions.
Not if their arms are always closed.
Not if their children grow up
learning how to heal wounds
inflicted by the very people
who were meant to protect them.
I am the fury of a million mistreated children,
screaming the words you’ll never admit:
You failed.
And no matter how loudly you deny it,
your silence will always testify against you.