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Your Autobiographies
Chalise Saunders's Autobiography (submitted 5/16/06)
Why don't you talk to me, he'll ask? Why don't you hug me, he'll complain? But silent my voice. I have no choice. I haven't seen him in weeks but I grow quiet, sick with sorrow everytime we draw close to his house. My spirits drop when I pass the 15th district police station. Why don't you talk to me, he'll ask? Why don't you hug me, he'll complain? He doesn't care about how I feel. I don't feel anymore. He doesn't care about how I feel. I can't feel anymore. I don't cry anymore. Or maybe I just can't. Waiting. Not yet. Too soon. I'll keep waiting. Maybe I don't deserve a dad that loves me. He'll say he loves me. Just like he says it to the company's children. The musty smell of beer clouding his true face, the real him. They all want my dad. I'm so lucky. They're lucky! When the cloud fades away and when he gets drunk, they're not here to witness it. Shunned to our rooms like prisoners. Verbal abuse. Nothing's good enough. I'm not good enough. Everything I do is wrong. I'll smile at them. Lie to them. I'm happy, really. I'll keep sitting in my pink prison he keeps me in. I shouldn't hate him. He could be worse. Right? Don't hate him. I hate him! Don't. Stop waiting. I'm waiting. Don't! It's not gonna happen. I'm not good enough, remember? I don't deserve it. Talk to me, he'll say. I'll make something up, just to please him. He's not listening. Repeat. Rewind. Fast Forward. Are you talking to me or the T.V.? Oh well. He's not listening. He never does. So I'll keep waiting. My hate only grows stronger. I'll just wait for a dad who loves me.