How you're alike

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How you're alike

You say you have nothing in common, but you're more alike than you think. You say opposites attract but you're both negatively charged.
You say that your differences are too great, you've been dwindling since the start.
But mother and father, you're so alike.

Momma yells her heart out in rage and blames everyone for her mistakes. She slams the door shut in my face, when all I've said is "it'll be okay."
Father blared in my ears you aren't good enough. He didn't have to say a word, I could tell from his face. Disappointment. Hatred. Disgust.

Father shuts his door. Mother shuts her door. You're alike.

Father turns away. He's always gone even when he's here. He hides from reality behind his locked door. His presence is no longer needed. I did all the growing up on my own.
Mother pushes people away. Locks her self from the world and tells me to go away. She cries and then laughs and screeches and smiles and cries once more. She blames it on her past, but little does mommy know, the devil named bipolar is corrupting her mind, body and soul.
Neither mommy or daddy will ever know.

Where were you when brother came out gay, and where were you when I was crying on the bathroom floor in pain, and how couldn't you see that your baby got sicker every day.
Mother was never there when we needed her.
And father, you were never there when we needed you.
You're alike.
You were never there when we all needed you the most.