Dying Slowly

I'm tired
of hearing
them argue.
Of fearing

I am not
good enough
for them.
The gruff

rebukes
which strike
me cold.
Like

a serrated
knife,
carving me out
of their life

which is
perfect, now
that I am gone.
I vow

to myself
to never
be them.
To sever

myself from
society.
That's what
they want from me.

Isn't it?
I can feel
the repulsion.
I can't deal

with the hatred,
overflowing,
the critisizing.
I hate their knowing

smirks, their comparing,
and poking fun.
I have to fake laughter,
smile, wait for them to be done.

I have to be brave
as they continue
to yell, scream,
shout, and argue

about
me.
I'm dying
slowly.

**this is about my parents . . . tell me what you think, eh?