That's what you say, when you know it was your own self.
I made you do it? You must be right, although I doubt it.
You told me that I was too melodramatic.
I am your daughter, aren't I? Maybe I was mistaken.
Why did you throw my supper away? Did I deserve that? Didn't you know that I was hungry?
Why did you yell at my mommy so? I was enraged at you.
And you still tell me that it's all my fault.
Maybe it was. Maybe I'm missing something.
But I doubt it.
I ask you why. Why do you do the things that you do?
It happens more often now.
Do you remember that time, not too long ago, less than a year in fact? My birthday? My fifteenth birthday?
I hope you remember. Because I will never forget.
You don't see what you do. Do you see when I cry? Do you even care about me then?
You tell me I am stupid. I am a snotty child. Don't you remember, I am your daughter?
Tell me what I've done wrong, so maybe I can fix it.
You say it's my fault? But is it really? One day I'd like you to take a look at yourself. Tell me what you see.