To Daddy

I am not what you want me to be, daddy.

I cannot be good at something.

I can't even control my words or shut up.

I cannot sleep without crying.

I cannot go home right after school because I feel so much alone in here than being with a bunch of people I do not know.

I can't go on a day without a few cans of coffee to keep my mind alive. My heart cannot even beat once without reminding me that I am not what you wanted me to be, daddy.

I can't even look at you straight in the eye because I'm never enough, daddy. I am not intelligent at school. I don't behave. I usually laugh harder to hush the echoes of death inside my head; to lessen the pain, so that I could possibly trick my mind that I am happy and that I don't long for love and attention from you. To fake everybody else that I'm strong enough to handle myself and everything that I am going through when in fact, I am so weak, daddy. And tired.

To be honest, daddy, I'm fragile; already broken, to be exact. And I don't know how long I could handle everything else that is falling apart knowing how disappointing I am to you.

I have no idea how long could I grasp on to the end of the rope but I could swear I did my best to be enough, daddy, I love you.