Dad

I know you subconsciously hate me because I ruined your life.
Were I not, you wouldn’t now suffer such a horrible wife.
Really, nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough for you.
What’s worse, you hate the only creature that loves me—my bun—too.

I don’t remember you praising me or claiming you were proud
of me, only often emphasizing I was good for naught.
You make me feel like I’m the fourth worst person in the whole world
after my great-grandma, grandma, and ma. Such a hateful gild!

I guess someone just has to carry on the abhorrent boon.
You only find mistakes in all I do, like I was a goon.
Further, you always scold me and shame me in front of others
and complain how terrible I am to our kin and neighbours.

Thanks to you I’m distrustful of men—being a worthless femme—
and unable to make connection with any one of them.
They find me repulsive because that’s how you taught me to see
myself. So how could anyone ever love someone like me?