You would think that after weeks of holding the same shit over my head, he’d stop.
You would think that, for once, my father could prove himself to be more than just a superficial bigoted member of my twisted family.
You would think that maybe, since this is my last day living here and all, that I would amount to little more than trash.
You would think that after 18 years, I’d finally be something— anything near “good enough”.
You would think that, right?
Well my father doesn’t
But you know what? After 18 years, I’ve learned that I don’t have to give a fuck about anything that he, or anyone else thinks. I am who I am, I know where I’ve been, and I know where I want to be— happy.
And there’s not a goddamn thing he or anyone else can think of me that will keep me from getting there.
You would think I’d be good enough.
Well, for once, I think so. And with a little luck and a little love, I won’t be alone. I’ll never be.