I was sitting alone in my chair -
no, not my chair, your chair -
And I am a creature, you know - no, you didn't know - that I was a terrible creature and I could make anyone cry.
You always believed the best of me even when I made it difficult and yours was after all the only bad opinion of me I couldn't stand. Which was the real reason I cried for your disappointment,
not just to make you turn soft and forgive me, but because I was ashamed of whatever made you look at me like that.
I was sitting in my chair - your chair -
and I thought I had buried the terrible creature.
Guess not.
Ripping, scathing words, all the more potent because they were true.
I sent them to the one who had held me while I screamed for you.
Words full of anger. I missed you.
I still do.
I was in your chair when I wrote it and it was the meanest most bitter thing to say I could think of,
and I wanted to be mean and bitter. That crude bitch called life had put cyanide in my lemonade.
So, all the while whistling that I wasn't,
I sat in your chair, and I lashed.
I lashed out at him. He who had held me as I cried. Not because he had deserved it, but because it was easy.
He was so easy to traumatize, brutalize with my unkind words.
My words, my words, my crowing wicked birds,
to pluck out the heart he offered me and swallow it in thirds.
You didn't believe it, but I am a terrible creature.
I loved you.
I love you.
And it is harder on me -
for having already made my lemons into lemonade, because when your bitters are sweetened, anyone can piss into that yellow drink.
(and you'll never know until the liquid hits your lips.)

He responded, apologizing for misdeeds I'd fabricated myself that he thought he'd done.
I apologized for being a mean, bitter fiend.
Missing you, I am afraid, has ressurected the -
(father... why did you have to... leave)
...terrible creature.