Mom?
You don't understand me, or anything about me. Then how do you expect to help? You think that just because you have the title of "mom" you understand? I don't think so. You have no clue how hard it is, to be who I am. To have grown up with a strange backround, like the one you gave me. You will never understand. No matter how hard you try. I can't trust you, and probably never will. You criticize everything. What I do, what I think, or what I feel. But, oh no, when I try to do the same, No way, you can't handle it. You bring this a** home every night. What can't you see that your not really free. He buys you shiny things everytime he f*cks up, or just to buy you off. That's love? Yet when I find one, that cares about me, for me, he's not good enough. I never got flowers for no aparent reason. I chose the full of love, not money. But there never good enough for you and your stupid a**hole, or the shiny things, or the plants that will die. If we have so much not in common and you critisize so much, how are you going to understand? Oh well, you can't. So go off and be happy in your world of flowers and shiny things. Written February 26th, 2002 © on Feb 26 2002 11:47 AM PST 10 • 0
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"You don't understand me,..."