Standing there in the intensely chilled room,
trying to keep a straight face because if I
cracked she would know...
I was lying.

My mother the independent single
mom of three kids, who worked eleven
hours a day always kept a tight leash on me,
and the tighter it got the more I thrived for the
freedom that wasn't there.

Everyone must be willing to pay a price
for freedom... mine was remorse.
Remorse for being egotistical, for how hard
my mom worked and how I neglect the life I have;

Because I spend too much time
finding other people to blame.
To much energy finding excuses for not being
what I am capable of being, and not enough
energy putting myself on the line.

Freedom is the right to question and change
the established way of doing things.
I was not graced with this luxury.

In my house you do what your told, don't talk back,
and hide any feeling of frustration or anger.
I thought I was like the people in my books about freedom.
However their fight for freedom was ways more significant than mine.

They lied for their family and their life.
I lied for what I assumed I deserved.
But the trouble with lying and deceiving is that
my efficiency depends entirely upon a clear notion
that I, the liar and deceiver, wishes to hide.

Because the best liar is the one who makes
the smallest amount of lying go the
longest way.

Although freedom is not worth having if it
does not include the freedom to make mistakes;
it is better than feeling

the cutting air across your neck,
trying to keep a straight face,
because the last thing I want to do is...
Crack.