You complain that I don’t tell you anything.
I’m a secret and a mystery to you.
You’re my daughter, you say.
Everything should show plainly on my face
and my heart needs to be planted squarely on my sleeve.
Well, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I need to prove to you I’m worth it.
I’m sorry that I don’t trust telling you anything
because I’m afraid you’ll squash
my moments of happiness.
I’m sorry I could never be
who you wanted me to be.
But you never saw me for who I was.
You never accepted me just as I am.
“You need to be better.
You need to be thinner.
You can’t sing for the rest of your life, it’s not a living.
You can’t
You’re not
You are forbidden.
We always thought you’d get C’s in school.
What’s that on your face?
Let me pick at you,
because I can’t stand to see any blemishes.
(Never mind you’re a teenage girl,
that blackhead has got to go.)”
And you wonder why I don’t go home much anymore.
I think the things that hurts the most
is that you didn’t have high expectations for me.
You didn’t push me to be the best that I could be,
you pushed me to be who you thought I should be.
But now, I’m someone who you don’t recognize.
Because I realized the most important thing:
I can’t be anyone
but myself.
P.S.-I had a 4.0 this semester.
So much for the C’s.