He Called Me Neurotic

he called me neurotic

but what i think he really meant

was that the roots of my anxiety

are growing deep within my head

-

sometimes my thoughts run far

away, escape all rhyme and reason

the seeds of logic overthrown

by the fruits of anxious seasons

-

i just take my time to breathe

and think up a solution

i take a minute and i trawl

through the depths of this pollution

-

poison planted in my mind

by words and dirty looks i catch

in a net of pure self hate

in which fearful thoughts hatch

-

he called me neurotic

and sure, ill take it on the nose

my garden of fear and self hate

truly needed that last rose.

-

(photo via)

There is love in my mother's disapproval.

It is there in the way she looks at me,

The way she loathes my existence.

It's not visible but it's there.

There is love in my father's resentment.

It is there in the way he talks to me,

The way he is ashamed of me.

It's not apparent but it's there.

There is love in my family.

It is there in broken dreams.

It is there in domestic scars.

So much love that you almost mistake it for hate.

I don't think I could ever stop writing completely.

permillion44

The grave that I call my home

Where love doesn't exist.

The monster that I call my father

For whom peace doesn't exist.

The demon that I call my mother

For whom compassion doesn't exist.

The nightmare that I call my world

For which I dont exist.

The despair that I call myself

For whom joy doesnt exist.

The curse that I call my life

Where living doesn't exist.

What is family if not hate disguised as love

What am I?

A strange thing to wonder

I'm the anger of my father,

And the silent cries of my mother.

I'm the broken pieces of childhood,

Of a once happy daughter.