So Mean

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.