fractured.

and truth be told i'd rather hate the real you than love the made-up pretty-boy package you've been selling me.

this means you, dad. do you understand this, dad? does this make any kind of sense to you, dad? let me help you to understand. let me help you to see, the truth that is ingrained in me. the truth that i refuse to give up on, refuse to let go of. i refuse to let you show me any different, even though that's all you've ever taught me. and i have more faith than you will ever see. you can't possibly appreciate the tenacity that pumps through me. the strength that lives in my bones and helps me stand up tall and free. you tell me on the phone about your dishonesty, in hopes to break bad habits and commit yourself to a new transparency. i appreciate that you're trying,dad, but you are so blind to your own reality. and i don't know if you're really that daft, or if your vision has selectivity. does the sound of my tears not affect you? do you not feel pain when i tell you that i am hurting? i don't want to participate in your search for happiness anymore. i can't. i'm out. and i'm sorry because i want to be there, for you. like you were never there for me. but i can't sacrifice my faith anymore. these pieces of my heart that you are breaking are too fractured to be fixed. you can't fix me anymore.