(no subject)
My father is the kindof man who changes the radio station as soon as he sees your foot tapping to the rhythm in enjoyment.
My father is the man whose job title was the first sound I ever uttered. The man whose job it was to love and nurture me. Only, that's not what my father did.
He had difficulty managing his anger and beat the shit out of me twice a week or so for twelve years. He tells me now he loves me. And that he's proud of me. I look into his dark eyes and think one thing: Bullshit.
My father is the man whose job title was the first sound I ever uttered. The man whose job it was to love and nurture me. Only, that's not what my father did.
He had difficulty managing his anger and beat the shit out of me twice a week or so for twelve years. He tells me now he loves me. And that he's proud of me. I look into his dark eyes and think one thing: Bullshit.