Do not yell at me any longer. I do not fear your wrath anymore, not like I did when I was little. And I never respected you for being angry with me. I am a grown woman who has fought you my whole life, in my head, in my heart and in making others 'be' you and then hating them instead. My hate runs deep, my heart is as cruel as yours. I would love them and cherish them and run them through with a blade of ice.
Hating you was never an option. Your lap was the safest place in the world. Your arms around me, smelling like Blistex and Old Spice, it was Heaven. It was perfect. It was Home to a vagabond girl that knew of boxes and moving and change, all too well.
Do not yell at me when you cannot see my eyes, so much like yours. You would learn fear, as I did when my eyes could see no higher than your elbow. Looking into your own eyes would paint a strip of fear in your heart as wide as the one you painted in me.
I love you and I respect you, but no more yelling. None. I am no more yours to yell at, than you are mine to abuse. Try learning to respect me, as a woman. Might heal us both.
Right now, all I feel is hurt, and the weary fear of my own creation. Right now, all I want to smell is Old Spice and Blistex, to feel safe.
Still I open my heart to you. I let you run me through, again, with your blade of ice. I try to remember. I try NOT to continue your Legacy.
I love you.