Dad

Dad, 

I hate the way you make me cry, 

each and

Every time I question why.

Although you say you’ll never raise your hand. 

You still hurt me with your words. 

They cut me deep like sharpened swords. 

They said parents are supposed to build us. 

I believe you try but it all crumbles when you make a big fuss. 

It’s almost as if you don’t think about what you say. 

You just let it slip any way. 

You keep apologizing and expect me to just move on. 

But how do I do so when your words are tattooed in my brain you Moron