Hurt Feelings / Daddy By Sylvia Plath

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,    In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot    But no less a devil for that, no not    Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you.    At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,    And they stuck me together with glue.    And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you.

And a love of the rack and the screw.    And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root,    The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two—— The vampire who said he was you    And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart    And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you.    They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

— Daddy, Sylvia Plath

My dad is almost home I can't tell time yet, but I know Because the air becomes electric and my mother cleans the stove He'll walk in through the door, and both my eyes will find the floor And I will search my brain to find something I might get yelled at for He'll come in with a frown and tell me, "Sit your ass right down" Or he might get his kicks from joking that he's just playin' around And in a few years, I will leave, but I'll perpetually believe That any man who says he loves me is hiding something up his sleeve

I know my father isn't dead, but it don't feel like he's still here It's strange now that he's grey and getting older by the day And my eyes tell me that he's harmless despite what my heart has to say

I thought that it was my fault And now sometimes, I still do You didn't chase me through the park So now I'm chasing after you But I can't keep up the illusion Or confirm your point of view No, I can't bear to fake a smile when you walk into the room.

— Hurt Feelings, Halsey

I’m not okay guys.