Daddy's Little Girl
Entry 1: October 1st
October 1st, 2007
Dear Diary,
Mood: Lonely
This is what you call a ‘sorry’ gift. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for [insert occasion here]. Or, I am so sorry I was at [insert tour name/band function/any other occasion here]. There are so many times he’s said sorry and lately I haven’t been giving a fuck. He’ll walk through the door after being on tour, we’ll hug, he’ll mess with my hair, mutter his sorries and hand me a gift. I’ve got drawing pads, two guitars, and this diary I’m writing in. And you know what, none of it matters if he keeps doing the same thing over. He acts as if he’s stupid or something. He sees my face when he comes home and he sees it when he leaves. He hears my voice cracking when we say goodbye, but either he’s in denial or he’s stupid. Mom tells me to give him a chance to atone for his sins. I told her that I am not God, so he does not have to atone to me at all. This is how the last welcome home reception went.
{FLASHBACK SEQUENCE! ((Hehe, I have always wanted to write that)) }
I walked to the door, because he fucking lost his keys again. ((Probably on eBay or something, have not wanted to look)) He gives me a smile and hugs me,
“Hey, pumpkin head.”
“Dad…” I said, pushing myself away from him, “Mom…dad’s home.”
“Wait…wait!” He pouted, playing with his lip ring. I sighed and turned around looking at him,
“What?”
“Here!” He grinned handing…((I don’t know if I should call this a you…or a it? All right, you are now a you, but just to be clear…you are just an object.)) you to me. You were shiny black on the outside with a big skull on the front, something I probably would have bought for myself, “I saw it, and knew you would love it.”
“Great, I’m going to my room now.” I said taking you up the stairs, leaving him downstairs.
{END FLASHBACK SEQUENCE}
Right now, I can hear the yelling, especially from my mom. She’s screaming about how she never gets to see him anymore, and especially Ashlee ((that’s me!)). Dad’s yelling about the tour, the CD, the band, the fans, they can’t quit now…just because of me. How unfair would that be? A bunch of crying fans…very. I know if Tokio Hotel broke up my heart would be crushed. Mom just retorted that eventually they will have to stop being a rock band and will have to start being people. Door slamming, the sounds of crying, yep…having Dad is always a great thing. I love him…I do. Who couldn’t love him, he is the best friend someone could have, but he’s always gone. I feel like I don’t know him…I feel like, he’s a random person that comes in and gives me stuff. Shit…you can barely even read this because of the tears.
Let’s talk about something happy shall we? I haven’t even told you who I am, maybe that would explain a lot.
My name is Ashlee Jamia Iero. Yes, yes, no need for applause, I am the child of the famous Frank Anthony Iero, rhythm guitarist of My Chemical Romance and an unnamed woman. My middle name is Jamia…but she is not my mother. ((My father is a rocks star, I’m guessing he got lonely on a tour one night, one mistake, and here I am! Yay? Not. Jamia, who I call mother, is good to me…and I love her. I don’t care that she’s not my biological mother, she’s done more for me than that woman has.)) Yes, the boys are like my uncles, you know, the ones you never see unless you are forced to go to a funeral or something. Okay, maybe you would not know since I am writing on a diary. Maybe…I need more friends.No, what I need is a fucking father
Pros of being his daughter:
1) Guitars and music all around
2) No saying I can’t do stuff because he did worse at my age
3) I am HIS daughter, nobody can say that. Kinda makes me a mini-Jesus figure.
Cons of being his daughter
1) I have to change my cell phone number all the time ((my so-called friends, sell it and the house number.))
2) I have random people come up to me and give me demo tapes
3) I never see him.
Alright, I’m sleepy.
Much Love,
A.J
Dear Diary,
Mood: Lonely
This is what you call a ‘sorry’ gift. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for [insert occasion here]. Or, I am so sorry I was at [insert tour name/band function/any other occasion here]. There are so many times he’s said sorry and lately I haven’t been giving a fuck. He’ll walk through the door after being on tour, we’ll hug, he’ll mess with my hair, mutter his sorries and hand me a gift. I’ve got drawing pads, two guitars, and this diary I’m writing in. And you know what, none of it matters if he keeps doing the same thing over. He acts as if he’s stupid or something. He sees my face when he comes home and he sees it when he leaves. He hears my voice cracking when we say goodbye, but either he’s in denial or he’s stupid. Mom tells me to give him a chance to atone for his sins. I told her that I am not God, so he does not have to atone to me at all. This is how the last welcome home reception went.
{FLASHBACK SEQUENCE! ((Hehe, I have always wanted to write that)) }
I walked to the door, because he fucking lost his keys again. ((Probably on eBay or something, have not wanted to look)) He gives me a smile and hugs me,
“Hey, pumpkin head.”
“Dad…” I said, pushing myself away from him, “Mom…dad’s home.”
“Wait…wait!” He pouted, playing with his lip ring. I sighed and turned around looking at him,
“What?”
“Here!” He grinned handing…((I don’t know if I should call this a you…or a it? All right, you are now a you, but just to be clear…you are just an object.)) you to me. You were shiny black on the outside with a big skull on the front, something I probably would have bought for myself, “I saw it, and knew you would love it.”
“Great, I’m going to my room now.” I said taking you up the stairs, leaving him downstairs.
{END FLASHBACK SEQUENCE}
Right now, I can hear the yelling, especially from my mom. She’s screaming about how she never gets to see him anymore, and especially Ashlee ((that’s me!)). Dad’s yelling about the tour, the CD, the band, the fans, they can’t quit now…just because of me. How unfair would that be? A bunch of crying fans…very. I know if Tokio Hotel broke up my heart would be crushed. Mom just retorted that eventually they will have to stop being a rock band and will have to start being people. Door slamming, the sounds of crying, yep…having Dad is always a great thing. I love him…I do. Who couldn’t love him, he is the best friend someone could have, but he’s always gone. I feel like I don’t know him…I feel like, he’s a random person that comes in and gives me stuff. Shit…you can barely even read this because of the tears.
Let’s talk about something happy shall we? I haven’t even told you who I am, maybe that would explain a lot.
My name is Ashlee Jamia Iero. Yes, yes, no need for applause, I am the child of the famous Frank Anthony Iero, rhythm guitarist of My Chemical Romance and an unnamed woman. My middle name is Jamia…but she is not my mother. ((My father is a rocks star, I’m guessing he got lonely on a tour one night, one mistake, and here I am! Yay? Not. Jamia, who I call mother, is good to me…and I love her. I don’t care that she’s not my biological mother, she’s done more for me than that woman has.)) Yes, the boys are like my uncles, you know, the ones you never see unless you are forced to go to a funeral or something. Okay, maybe you would not know since I am writing on a diary. Maybe…I need more friends.No, what I need is a fucking father
Pros of being his daughter:
1) Guitars and music all around
2) No saying I can’t do stuff because he did worse at my age
3) I am HIS daughter, nobody can say that. Kinda makes me a mini-Jesus figure.
Cons of being his daughter
1) I have to change my cell phone number all the time ((my so-called friends, sell it and the house number.))
2) I have random people come up to me and give me demo tapes
3) I never see him.
Alright, I’m sleepy.
Much Love,
A.J