Know, that every time you speak against me,
With that dull razor cut tongue of yours,
A little piece of my stored rage slithers its way into existence.
Making my finger fidget uneasy, involuntary.
The hair from my cavity expels as I am constricted to the spine,
Leaving just enough breath for my tongue to wiggle out,

“I hate you”.

For your uneasiness in your mind for your hate for your own damn kind,
Be civil.
That’s all I ask. That’s all a child ever asks.
But do it like how you were raised, but don’t ask questions when “civil” turns its back.
And

IF I AM YOUR DAUGHTER,

Then treat me like one.