My father had a broken childhood
Pain was the only thing he knew
What was done to him, he passed to me
Like a debt he never questioned through

He took it out on me, day by day
Calling it strength, calling it law
God gave him a gift — a good woman
But he never saw what he saw

She stood there trying to hold us together
While he kept tearing us apart
The more love he was given
The colder and harder grew his heart

I had a choice, but both were hell
Either break — or learn to yell
Let it crush me, let it win
Or say “no” and live in sin

On my birthday, in front of my friends
He hit me — no shame, no end
Something died right there inside
In front of the people I called my side

I had a choice, but both were hell
Either break — or rebel
Both roads led to my collapse
I chose the fire, I chose the clash

I became a punk, an anarchist
I spat at rules, I clenched my fist
Not because it was cool or brave
But because rebellion was how I stayed alive

I didn’t choose peace
I chose the scream
When love feels fake
Rage feels clean

They say curses end with time
But this one followed every line
What he planted, I still reap
A family wound that cuts too deep

I had a choice, but both were hell
Silence or revolt — both failed
I didn’t win, I didn’t heal
I just learned how the curse feels

This is not blame, this is not hate
Just the truth I learned too late
Bad families don’t always break
Sometimes they teach you how to ache