The Truth Hurts: A Blog Post Turned Poem

One thing I did not want this blog to be was a diary.

But I like to remember the certain days when thing occur to me.

When I was growing up, my parents meant the world to me. They were older. They knew more then I did. They taught me a way of life. I would listen to my dad speak and be admired by what he said. I would watch my mom be strong towards men. I saw a woman being powerful and running the house, while my father cooked and sometimes cleaned. I had these super parents. Who I looked up too. Role models. Strong people. Amazing people. Who provided me with everything, down to how I act in public. I took rules from them. I followed there directions. I became what they created. I was grass and they were the mountains I looked up too, what I wanted to be. Mature, an adult, a stand up person. As a child, that is what I saw. These god-like parents that I would one day be.

Only to find out...there human.

They breathe

They shit.

They fuck up things

There addicts

There dumb and can sometimes be stupid.

You wake up and realize that they are no better then you.

You get older and you see things going on in your house you didn't see before...

Bottom line is...

You tell to lose weight, you tell me to be smaller, you tell me I will gain more confidence, you tell me men like smaller women, you told me that you don't know what my husband see in my body, sober or not, it came from your mouth, you tell me that being smaller will get you by in life and no one will hire a fat woman........When.......YOU......

should look out of my window and into your mirror and tell yourself

lose the bottle, try and drink smaller amounts, you will gain more sanity, men like sober women, I don't see what he sees in you when your drunk all the time, pissed or not, this is coming from my mouth, not drinking so much will make you happier in life and no one will want a drunk alcoholic around....

Watching you fall over....

.............

seeing you hold on to the walls

......................

makes me angry....mainly ashamed..

that you point the finger

in the words of paramore, before you point the finger I might have to bend it back or break it break it off.....next time you point the finger...ill point you to the mirror...

If I love food

You love boose...

Lets call it even.