I wasn't good enough

 
You told me I was weak, but that wasn't true.
All I did was seek your approval in my heart,
all the cruel words held apart from my emotions,
oceans of doubt and insecurity in rolling waves
cave in on me.

You told me I wasn't smart enough,
because I didn't make straight A's all the time.
I was out of line because I couldn't read well,
compelling me to read a million books,
just to prove you wrong.

It wasn't long before I blocked out your words,
curses and rants,
taunts and temper tantrums, childs play.
Childs way of dealing with their problems.

Aren't I supposed to be the child?

But even while I looked past you, I still heard.
It still hurt.
I learned to try to turn a deaf ear,
fearing the lacerations against my self worth.
Giving birth to even more trepidation.

So now, in evenings of retrospect,
there is much regret in my heart.
I know you love me, but your kind of love sucks.
It's coppery rust on what could have been beautiful and strong.

All I have ever heard from you
was how I wasn't good enough.
And by the time you realize you were wrong,
I'll be long gone.