Lifeline

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Under Your Control

For sixteen years I've lived here, with you.
I know there used to be a time when we were happy,
But I can't remember it.
I can't remember a time before the fights and the tears.
It's like nothing existed before this.
You give me an order and say you're giving me control.
But that's not what control is.
I know what you want from me,
But I cannot give it.
I cannot give you perfection.
Instead I give you me, a person who never stops fighting.
I don't know what gave me all this anger I have,
Whether it was you or just my shitty life in general.
But I do know that it courses through my veins
And makes my blood boil and my head spin.
I try and try and try to be what you want me to be.
But the truth is, I will never be good enough for you.
You'll always want more from me.
I will never be smart enough, mature enough, kind enough,
Strong enough.
I never seem to stop screaming and crying and shaking.
My heart never seems to stop breaking.
I so wish I could be enough.
I wish I could make you proud.
I don't know why I fight you; why do you fight me?
I am so sorry I disappointed you.
I would do anything to change that.
But sometimes the way you talk to me really hurts.
There aren't many things that are good in my life,
Not many people I trust.
And your voice cuts into me like the razor blade
That spills my blood under my own direction.
All of this, my life, my pain, my grief,
It's always been so raw.
I'll be honest, sometimes I think about
What it would be like to actually
End me.
But I never will; I'm a coward.
You'll never know any of this though.
I could never tell you; I know what you'd say.
"You're over-reacting," "You're being pathetic," "You're
Out of control."
Except it's more of the opposite, isn't it?
You never stop controlling me.
I guess that's why I fight; I've never liked being your puppet.
I've said this before, and I'll say it again:
Why do you get to be the king?
I'll never be happy with you.
"Just one more year," that's what I have to tell myself
Every day.
It keeps me somewhat sane to know I won't always be stuck
Under your shoe.
None of this means I don't love you, because I do.
You've been through a lot, but so have I.
I'll be moving out soon, and you don't even know me.
You don't see me.
You don't hear me.
But I hear you, see you, know you.
I've come to expect the pain your words bring me,
Telling me that I'm "just a child," and what do I know?
I'm "garbage," I'm "fat," I'm "boring," I'm "stupid."
"Fuck you," "I don't want to talk to you," "Go away," "Bitch," "Cunt," "Asshole," "Whore."
Yes, I hear you.
For the rest of my life, I will never stop hearing you.

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