A/n: Emo time, kids. Or at least, sterotypical teenager time. To express all the anger and frustration parents, and we, inspire in us. All Parents are mean or cruel in some ways, some are just more obvious about it.


You wonder why I am the way I am

You wonder why I lash out, why, when you scream, I scream back, my voice shrill and breakable, like glass. I am simply trying to drown you out, the sounds of you blaming everything on me, placing more and more guilt on these small shoulders. I am not as strong as Atlas, you know. I can't carry the weight of the world, even if it just yours.

You wonder why I can't back down, even if you hit me so my face stings, even if you pierce my heart with your words of steel. I cannot hit you back, because I was taught otherwise- even though, hypocrite that you are, you went back on your life lessons and resorted to Neanderthal expressions of anger. And, above all, I fear you. I fear that you will get even angrier, veins popping out of your skin and your punches bruising instead of simply inflaming.

But I can't back down. Not now, not ever. I was taught otherwise. Never show weakness, never show fear. Drummed into the skull, so I hold them close like instincts. If I look away, that is weakness and the hyenas will tear me down, rending flesh from bone. So, I foolishly stare you down, even though I know that this just eggs you on. Like to a wild animal, this is a challenge.

My throat tastes of bile and copper as I bite my lip to keep from throwing back daggers of my own. I know, for every cut that appears on your psyche, I will loose twice as much blood. You taught me that too.

I long for that rebirth, only four months away, where, magically, I will no longer have to fear you, and these stand-offs will be a thing of the past. A forgotten age before a Renaissance. Instead of a face-off, I can turn away, or even fight back. The playing field will be even then. You will no longer have the higher ground.

Eventually, you turn away, your gaze turns vapid as it falls in the television. My eyes sting with the force of your dismissal. You have already forgotten, flash fire emotions back into a controlled burn.

There is nothing left to do. I too sit down, but my emotions are not so easily put away, this abuse not so easily forgotten. For that is what it is, abuse. The fire on my skin quickly fades, but the scars on the psyche are more permanent.

There is a child's pain in my chest, the betrayal of someone near and dear. You are supposed to protect me! She cries out, and my own eyes burn with unshed tears. You are supposed to create a safe haven before I am ready for the world. You aren't supposed to bring that very same world to me, teaching me of cruelty. I would have had my childhood a few moments longer.

But, while you want to see my innocence gone, you would not allow experience and freedom to take its place. Instead, you would have me bound to you by apron strings for the rest of my natural life- within convenient range for your rage. And if that can't happen, the fury and loathing, both for myself and for others, namely you, will clip my wings just as surely.

You act as if this isn't your plan, putting on a fa├žade just as easily as you manipulate me, a puppet on a string. You know exactly which ones to jerk- you have watched them form, and even created a few these past seventeen years. Pull this one here, and watch her loose control.

Spite and darker feelings swirl in my chest, urging me to act instead of just weathering this storm. Fight back, it says, or get out of there- there must be a safe haven somewhere.

Get out before you end up just like her.

And how I so want to give in.