i hope you realize.

you ruin my fucking life.
you won't let me live a life full of guitars and friends and outside.
instead, i'm cooped up in a house made of rules and i'm cooped up to where i can't move and the only direction the walls are moving is in. towards me, just to make me claustrophobic.
maybe i am being my stupid self.
and maybe you are sick of it.
if you're so sick of it, why don't you just send me away?
you know you want to..
you know you want me to go live with him, and you know you don't care what happens to me.
the only thing you care about is waking up the next morning knowing you won't see my face.
and you'll celebrate.
and i'm here to say, i'm okay with that.
because i'm sick of getting made fun of, and i'm sick of being ignored for all the wrong reasons and i'm sick and fucking tired of being miserable every timie i walk in here
and i'm over the fact that i fight with you all the time,
and i know i'm not your mom, and you hardly are my mom anymore.
i never talk to you anymore
when i do we fight.
i never see you anymore
and if i do its only because i'm making food in the kitchen
or walking past you in the hallway.
and i never hug you because you always have to do something to piss me off
i know i'm a teenager, and i know i'm just growing up.
and just because you know about my blog isn't gonna stop me from flipping out on you
because obviously i cant do it in person because you'll probably run your fist through my mouth.
but if this is part of growing up, and i'm supposed to look back on this and laugh and say
"where was my mind, what was i thinking?"
then why didn't i do that yet?
because i remember things i used to get mad at all the time when i was little and i still think the things i did get mad at made sense.
and maybe when i do get mad it doesn't matter to anyone else except me. but what if you're wrong?
did you ever think that someone could care about you so much, that they care why you're mad?
just because it might have not happened to you doesn't mean there's no hope for me.
if i try to talk like it's our last conversation, nothing, and i mean absolutely nothing will change.
just because i'm treating the situatoin differently doesn't mean it's gonna make it all better.
the day you die, you're dying words will probably be 'you were a mistake, fuck you.'
maybe i'm not as bad of a kid as you think i am.
but in real life, and in my mind. i am.
damn, you're all so clueless.