I always ruin everything
or were my parents just that impossible to please?
Sunlight streams through the window,
and the rain doesn’t wash the bird poop off my car,
and the grass has frosted tips, like a middle school boy going through a phase,
and my parents were unhappy with me.
it was all a phase. It was always a phase.

The phase where I hate myself~
it’s all over.
Rainbows and sunshine and leprecahns and sugary cereal and happiness
(and I’m not supposed to judge my food choices because food is neutral.

                                                                                        but sometimes, I still do.)

Actually, it’s sad to think that my parents hated me
—in general, like, why have kids if you’re going to hate them?
Use a condom, please—
(except, my parents don’t even seem to love each other or be attracted to each other,
so there’s no way they were having sex for fun. They were supposed to have a kid because that’s what you do when you get married, and that’s it.)
there was no way to prevent my suffering.
It was predetermined.
I wish I had a god who would have given me good parents in the first place.

actually, it’s sadder still that now I hate myself for them.
A Sisyphian task, hating myself to make myself good,
good enough for them,
hoping that if I dig a little further, I’ll find that diamond I
can give to them to make them proud of me.
I don’t want to be like that guy who turned back too soon.
my dad said to never give up,
but what am I doing all this for?

Why? It doesn’t benefit them.
Why else would my parents hate me, if it wasn’t for something good?
It’s hard to imagine that your parents are bad.
No one ever wants that.
I have to stop doing things for them that hurt me,
that aren’t for my highest good.

My parents said they wanted what was best for me, and then they hurt me,
so everything is very confusing now.
i was punished for no good reason,
Sisyphus was punished for violating sacred hospitality,
but my dad got away with everything.
I guess bad guys only get what’s coming for them in stories.
That’s why stories are better than real life.