Fractured Affection

My father calls me aggressive.

Perhaps he’s right.

Maybe I'm too loud, too single-minded, too much sometimes. But what would he rather have me do? There's so much left unsaid, so much I have to give, if only you would listen.

I could rip and rage and scream, but all you would hear is white noise.

I must control the wild woman in my soul, chain her to her rock in order to gain enough respect to be acknowledge, let alone listened to. I will not apologise for moments of clarity where she is set free for even a second; it is not weakness to show my strength.

The only other option is subservient silence, passive indifference - that is an existence I refuse to consider.