I embraced technology as it opened its arms to me. Perhaps it showed me something I could not even explain myself but I believe that it has become a part of me. I don’t even know how to begin or continue a life without it because it has become a scar on my face that won’t ever dare fade. I can’t say I’m proud of it. I can’t say I’m not. But it’s truth. Bar nun.
Father wants me to wash that very scar off my face. Possibly forcing me to make it go away. But I can’t. And he ends up scarring me, wounding me even more with words in tones and manners that could probably make one take a life. If not it could scare all the happy thoughts that is left in anybody’s mind.
And I fought back.
But it was wrong to fight back. But it’s also wrong to be wounded that way. I find no sense in there. I find no sense in this war.
And now, I weep for my scars that my old man left me. Because I fought back. Because I was stupid. I weep for my old man because I had to see his occasional habit of being a jerk to me. I cannot promise that I won’t ever see that again. I know I will weep for the same reasons in the future.
My father is no bastard. In fact, he’s an outstanding father. He’s a profound speaker in his own way. One of which is a way of being a total bastard but mostly of love and care. He has seen enough pain and misery to act like he does… It sucks how I am tasked to put up with that because I end up not choosing to shut my mouth when he pulls the trigger. I fail to keep myself quiet whenever he stabs me with shards of glasses that are actually from the remnants of busted walls that came from me, I never tell him but it hurts even more.
Then again he does not know of the busted walls. I never speak of it. Otherwise I might end up weeping for reasons that has long been gone and over. I might cry for the heartbreaks that already passed its time. I just might end up wallowing over dark shadows and made-up-prince-charmings that has conquered me time and time again.
I am so done.