Everyone asks me “why do you put up with what he does?”
I wonder myself but I always seem to answer with because.
I thought it would get better as the days go by,
But you know what; it don’t everyday I still seem to cry.
It really hurts the way you talk down about my childhood,
I cannot help that mine was wonderful and yours was no good.
You’re always calling me stupid saying I know nothing,
You usually say this while screaming and cussing.
I wish that love wouldn’t be so complicated,
So then maybe I wouldn’t feel so hated.