A/N: I wrote this a while back when I was listening to Braking Benjamin's new cod We Are Not Alone and musing on some problems one of my friends was having. She has a horrible life at home and she told me one day after she got in a fight with her mom and step dad that she thought she was nothing more than a mistake and that sometimes she wondered if anyone would even notice if she wasn't there at all. I have a really good relationship with my parents, so it was hard for me to understand her feelings. I decided to write this little angst piece from Matt's pov so that I could better understand my friend's feelings. You should know that I am actually a big fan of Matt's dad and I do not believe his character is truly like this.
This House Is Not A Home
I'll be coming home just to be alone
Because I know that you're not there
And I know that you don't care
I can hardly wait to leave this place
No matter how hard I try
You're never satisfied
This is not a home
I think I'm better off alone
You always disappear
Even when you're here
This house is not a home
I think I'm better off alone
By the time you get home I'm already stoned
You turn off the TV and you scream at me
I can hardly wait til you to get off my case
No matter how hard I try
You're never satisfied
This is not a home
I think I'm better off alone
You always disappear
Even when you're here
This house is not a home
I think I'm better off alone
This house is not a home
Sometimes I wonder why you fought so hard at court. What did you have to prove? You knew then that you could never raise a child. You knew that you would never have the time or the energy to deal with some bratty rebellious kid. Now here I am, lying alone on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering what time you will stumble in tonight. It's two in the morning, my matrices is bare, there are no sheets only a lumpy pillow and a thin blue blanket with rips in three different places. I've been waiting nearly a year for you to notice the bleak state of my room, but I'm beginning to think that you've never even been in here. Even when you are home, which is rare, you hide up in your room getting pissed if I so much as make a noise that disturbs you. I know you hate having me here; I know I'm nothing but a burden. I know you'll be happy once I'm gone, but come to think about it, do you even notice that I'm here right now?
You hold me prisoner here. You never let me go anywhere, I have no friends and even if I did I'd never see them because of you. There are days that I just want to run away, but I'm always afraid that the day I leave will be the one day you noticed that I was actually here. And I know mom's abandoned me, you don't have to keep reminding me of that. Yes, I know the birthday card in the mail with ten bucks is just to save face. Why do you always have to throw the fact that even my own mother didn't want me in my face? Do you think I don't know? Do you think I didn't figure it out during the divorce when she didn't even attempt to fight for me?
I use to do everything I could to please you. I'd go to school, get good grades, never act up, but it never mattered what I did something was always not good enough for you. Why did it matter if the "house" was never clean? It's not like you were ever here. And some how all your problems would become my fault. Work would get stressful and I would suddenly become a lazy worthless child. The sluts you dated would use you then dump you and I would become as ungrateful as my good for nothing mother. Eventually it got to the point where I didn't care. You could yell about how much you hate me and how I was screwing up your life, it doesn't faze me anymore. You want me to hate you so you can have a justifiable reason to hate me; okay then I hate you. Are you happy now? I hate you. I hate being in the house. I'd rather rot on the streets then live in this empty rundown apartment with a screwed up bastard forever.
At first I was pissed when you said I'd be going away to summer camp tomorrow, but now I'm kind of glad. Summer camp last two weeks, that is two weeks of freedom. Two weeks without you to throw all of my weaknesses in my face. Two weeks to breathe and not wish that I were dead.
It's two thirty now, I just heard the apartment door open and then shut again. You're walking down the hall quietly. You just passed my door; you didn't even bothering to check up on me. Your bedroom door just shut. Now I know for certain that you're home for the night. Now I can close my eyes and get some sleep. At last another day in this house is over.