As a young girl, I paid attention
I knew what happened behind closed doors
It was horrid.
I recall nights of sickness
Inhaling your mistakes into my tiny lungs
And kids didn't want to sit with me at snack time
Because I reeked of regret.
And now, years later
When you found my bag of ***
How could you be surprised?
How could you be shocked
That your daughter, now sixteen
Picked up the same habits you practiced
Her entire life?
Because that burning feeling in my throat
Mixed with cool fall air and sadness
Was my ultimate high.
Because this was easier than dragging a sharp blade
Across my arm to bring some sort of
Non-existent relief.
It was better to escape to somewhere else
Where my problems were small
And I was free.
And when you asked me where I got it
How could you be even the tiniest bit surprised
When you heard that my answer was,
"From your stash"?
Such hypocrites they are.
