from the time,
that i was born,
i was a walking doll,
the younger version of barbie ofcourse,
thats what mama thought.
she would dress me up,
with her best pearl collection,
and silky dresses she had bought for me,
at expensive clothing stores,
she wanted me to be the most perfect of them all.
to make sure in the eyes of many,
i was adored...
i look at my daughter,
whose four years old,
now,
she lives in her own world,
shes her own being,
my bundle of joy,
i love the fact that she is so free in around her surroundings,
my hope for me as her mother,
is to never,
make my daughter
feel that she has to live up to the expectations
of being perfect,
or better,
than anyone,
in order to be loved,
and not to make the mistake mama made,
when she wanted me to be the most perfect girl,
in her world.