Daddy's Little Girl
Entry 4: October 7th, 2007
October 7th, 2007
Dear Diary,
Mood: Annoyed Awful
How dare he! How dare he! How fucking dare he! He’s never here, so why the hell does he think that he can control me when he is? All right, so today is my birthday. ((Woopty fuckin do!)) And mom was gonna go take me to get my first tattoo today. It was just gonna be a small one on my back of a music note, nothing special, nothing like a scorpion as high on my neck as possible. But no, dad decided to take me to private concert of My Chemical Romance instead, and you know what happened. The same thing that happens at all the MCR concerts I go too. I get shoved in backstage, and then when I get to go listen to them, I have to sit in the seats because G.A. is too dangerous. My God, Frank! Will you just either stay in my life or get out! You can’t have it both ways! Nobody can! I’m a fucking child! I need my father! You know who calls to check up on me more than you? Bob Bryar. Bob fucking Bryar! I am grateful for him, but you should be the one to check up on your little girl
That felt a bit better. I just turned on Tokio Hotel, and letting the “soothing” sounds of German rock ease my need to smash all of my guitars. You know with a name like Bill and body like that...God must be a comedian.
You won’t believe who I had a chat with. Daddy came in my room, ((without knocking, that bugs me…I could’ve been doing something secretive…like...um…looking at porn?))
{{FLASH BACK….I think?}}
“Hey, Pumpkin head, can I come in?” He asked, walking in the door. By the time, I wanted to say no, he was sitting on my bed, giving me that ridiculous grin.
“I suppose since you’re already in.” I muttered over my shoulder. ((At the time I was sitting at the desk writing in you))
“You didn’t look like you had much fun tonight.”
“I didn’t.” I said sharply.
“Why not, you used to love going to concerts.”
“Yeah, about that…used to. I wanna go to G.A. and bounce around. Sitting is lame.”
“You can jump around in the seat section.” He said. He opened a pack of skittles ((I know that ripping sound anywhere and that oh so sweet smell of sugary goodness.)), “Want some, Pumpkin head?”
“Stop calling me that, Frank!” I screamed, gripping the sides of my desk, “My name is A.J.” He didn’t say anything after that. I turned around and glared at him, “Get out of my room, Frank! I don’t want to talk to you tonight okay? You really fucked up my birthday!” I muttered looking down. ((now I’m feeling kinda bad for yelling at him, and I don’t mind being called pumpkin head, its just…this night being my birthday, it…I just…I donno))
{{FLASHBACK OVER}}
He completely left after that.
I think he’s crying to mom right now. Shit, thinking about him crying is making me cry. Maybe I should go talk to him. I feel awful now. I need to throw up.
It’s Not Fair
Not everyone’s got a daddy,
But I’ve got mine
And he ain’t here.
No, he’s not apart of the military,
No, my parent’s ain’t divorsed.
He’s just a rock star living his dream.
Maybe I’m being selfish,
Because I still got mine,
But all I want is him here.
No, he’s not a dead beat,
No, he didn’t run away
He’s just livin’ his dream.
People say life ain’t fair,
Who said it was supposted to be,
All I want is my daddy
No, he’s not apart of the military
And no, he’s not a fuck up
He’s just a rock star…
One of the best rock stars…
He’s just a rock star livin’ his dreams.
I usually don’t write songs, but, that makes me feel the best right now. Nobody will ever see that, I’m glad, but it feels childish. I wanna feel childish. I wanna scream and cry when he leaves! I want him to hold me like I’m little again! I want all of the empty promises back!
I hate the look of tear stains on paper. Alright, I’m not emo, but this is how I get when he’s home. I’m so confused, I feel so…unwanted in a way.
Damn.
I’m gonna go play the guitar.
A.J.
Dear Diary,
Mood: Annoyed Awful
How dare he! How dare he! How fucking dare he! He’s never here, so why the hell does he think that he can control me when he is? All right, so today is my birthday. ((Woopty fuckin do!)) And mom was gonna go take me to get my first tattoo today. It was just gonna be a small one on my back of a music note, nothing special, nothing like a scorpion as high on my neck as possible. But no, dad decided to take me to private concert of My Chemical Romance instead, and you know what happened. The same thing that happens at all the MCR concerts I go too. I get shoved in backstage, and then when I get to go listen to them, I have to sit in the seats because G.A. is too dangerous. My God, Frank! Will you just either stay in my life or get out! You can’t have it both ways! Nobody can! I’m a fucking child! I need my father! You know who calls to check up on me more than you? Bob Bryar. Bob fucking Bryar! I am grateful for him, but you should be the one to check up on your little girl
That felt a bit better. I just turned on Tokio Hotel, and letting the “soothing” sounds of German rock ease my need to smash all of my guitars. You know with a name like Bill and body like that...God must be a comedian.
You won’t believe who I had a chat with. Daddy came in my room, ((without knocking, that bugs me…I could’ve been doing something secretive…like...um…looking at porn?))
{{FLASH BACK….I think?}}
“Hey, Pumpkin head, can I come in?” He asked, walking in the door. By the time, I wanted to say no, he was sitting on my bed, giving me that ridiculous grin.
“I suppose since you’re already in.” I muttered over my shoulder. ((At the time I was sitting at the desk writing in you))
“You didn’t look like you had much fun tonight.”
“I didn’t.” I said sharply.
“Why not, you used to love going to concerts.”
“Yeah, about that…used to. I wanna go to G.A. and bounce around. Sitting is lame.”
“You can jump around in the seat section.” He said. He opened a pack of skittles ((I know that ripping sound anywhere and that oh so sweet smell of sugary goodness.)), “Want some, Pumpkin head?”
“Stop calling me that, Frank!” I screamed, gripping the sides of my desk, “My name is A.J.” He didn’t say anything after that. I turned around and glared at him, “Get out of my room, Frank! I don’t want to talk to you tonight okay? You really fucked up my birthday!” I muttered looking down. ((now I’m feeling kinda bad for yelling at him, and I don’t mind being called pumpkin head, its just…this night being my birthday, it…I just…I donno))
{{FLASHBACK OVER}}
He completely left after that.
I think he’s crying to mom right now. Shit, thinking about him crying is making me cry. Maybe I should go talk to him. I feel awful now. I need to throw up.
It’s Not Fair
Not everyone’s got a daddy,
But I’ve got mine
And he ain’t here.
No, he’s not apart of the military,
No, my parent’s ain’t divorsed.
He’s just a rock star living his dream.
Maybe I’m being selfish,
Because I still got mine,
But all I want is him here.
No, he’s not a dead beat,
No, he didn’t run away
He’s just livin’ his dream.
People say life ain’t fair,
Who said it was supposted to be,
All I want is my daddy
No, he’s not apart of the military
And no, he’s not a fuck up
He’s just a rock star…
One of the best rock stars…
He’s just a rock star livin’ his dreams.
I usually don’t write songs, but, that makes me feel the best right now. Nobody will ever see that, I’m glad, but it feels childish. I wanna feel childish. I wanna scream and cry when he leaves! I want him to hold me like I’m little again! I want all of the empty promises back!
I hate the look of tear stains on paper. Alright, I’m not emo, but this is how I get when he’s home. I’m so confused, I feel so…unwanted in a way.
Damn.
I’m gonna go play the guitar.
A.J.