Poetically attempted.

Joy is a temperamental nearly evasive feeling
 All it takes is a key going into the door as it opens squealing 
Did the door really make that noise or was it in my head? 
It’s hard to remember anything other than running for my bed
 Foot steps were heavy but sloppy, his words followed the same pattern 
My heart was heavy and my tears were ready but repetition can dishearten How easy is it to confront the one you are supposed to admire?
How do you accept that a source of comfort bathes you in the confusion of a liar?
 You want to make him proud but it is hard to do so when yours has gone Everyone dreams of becoming theirs but how do I accept that doing so would be wrong? 
Parents are deemed to be flawless and the beacon of truth you should follow Discovering the opposite at a young age can leave one pretty hollow.