Hypocrit(icism)

As I stare out this window,
harder and harder it rains.
The more I think about what happened,
the more I feel betrayed.

As I continue looking out the window,
you ask why I don't speak.
And if I choose to answer you,
this is how it'll be:

Mom, we came to spend the day
with our Papa and our Dad,
but you kept stealing our father away, forcing us
to spend the day sad.

And hello, Mom, you have a husband
who is fighting in a war far away.
But yet you cheat with our father.
Why won't you just go away?

You may think you're just cheating on my step-dad,
but you're cheating on your children, too.
And what if it was more than me who knew,
your youngest would truly hate you.

Not that I'd have much problem with that,
I'm also starting to feel that way.
Yet if I so much as open my mouth,
you'll nit-pick every little thing I say.

We can't have friends that cus,
but you can sit here and lie through your teeth?
And you can satisfy only your lust,
but we can't watch movies rated PG-13?

Well, thanks for your hypo-criticism,
but I won't let it affect me anymore.
Yell at me, go ahead, you always do,
but this time I'll just look out the window and ignore.

(written in rage,
I hope it'll help me turn the page)