found poem

Dear Dad,
I’m writing to thank you for the money. Each time you get me out of trouble using your wealth I ask myself: if money didn’t exist in this world, how would my father help me? And then I ask myself if it’s the guilt or the love for me that makes you do it. You know what? I don’t want to know. I have been lucky to have a father like you who lets me live my own life and who, when I make a mistake, practically always helps me out. But enough now. I don’t want you to help me any more. You’ve never liked me, I annoy you. When you’re with me you’re always too serious. Maybe it’s because I’m the living proof of a relationship gone wrong and each time you think of me you’re reminded of your shitty marriage to my mother. That’s not my fault, though. I know that for sure. For all the other stuff, I’m not sure. Maybe if I’d tried to be in contact more often, if I’d tried to break down the wall that separates us, maybe it would all have been different. I was thinking that if I had to write a book that tells the story of my life I would call the chapter on you ‘Diary of a Hatred’. Anyhow, I have to learn not to hate you. I have to learn not to hate you when your money arrives and when you call me to find out how it’s all going. I have hated you for too long, with no remorse. I’m sick and tired of it. So thank you once again but from now on even if you feel the urge to help me out, repress it. You are the master of repression and silence.
Your daughter, 
Olivia

Poem of Hatred

Thanks for the money
get me out of  trouble
as you are wealthy.

If there is no money
How can you help me
Using your love
Or using your care.

Any way, I don't care
Since you never care.
I hate you, I annoy you
For too long, with no remorse.

Thank you once again,
For being the master
Of silence and repression.