For 3 long years, I still come home,
by Jesse Bauer
to the same old words, 'you're no good.'
It happens when I turn my wheel.
Looking over the dashboard wood.
Seeing the house, it brings up hate,
because my parents are inside.
perhaps I do not work enough,
a reason they don't show me pride.
Maybe I was just dumb enough
to ask what dish mom was making.
usually they don't have to know
Why they tell the toll I'm taking.
Once I snapped, I was letting loose.
to one word, I lost all control.
My parents, with their simple lives,
would call me irresponsible?
I don't find it fair in knowing
I achieve three times their doing.
and for once in those 3 long years,
I handed out their own chewing.
School and work, with 3 jobs a week,
FFA,2 events at state.
And still, I have not yet to find
a stretch to fit upon my plate.
I will not stand that single word
when spoken to my very face.
I work this hard, and they don't see,
so I won't have their own disgrace.