Write me out of your life; I'm tired of this fight
It seems anything I do is of no importance to you
I've tried to hide the scars; to appear unscathed from far
but the truth in me lies like the passion burning inside
I keep struggling for a life in which both of us reside
Covered by blankets of optimism
and drenched by your rain of pessimism
Attempting to pick up the pieces you so easily left behind
A Father is what you once were; just another person is what you are now
Without the slightest ounce of interest in the daughter you'd once earned
I've chased your lover for years and have only wound up with tears
I've tried my utmost to satisfy you to only feel like a burden to you
Prayed to God to help me find the patience;
so my love for you could strengthen
My torture through success hasn't been proof enough
that without you it's been tough
Am I ruined like you, Father?
Am I ruined to you, Father?
Am I ruined beyond repair?
Or are you just scared?
It's okay, it's not like you're there.
It's not like you'd care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A struggle undefined is defined very well in this write. Whatelse could be said!