when I hear the footsteps up the stairs,
I know there’s something coming.
either a lecture, a scolding or a request,
it’s hardly not these.
just sometimes when I hear these footsteps,
I wish it’d be for good.
for them to ask about my day,
or about the boy I love.
but rather it’s a list of things I do not do.
I can’t clean right, I don’t work, I haven’t any perfect grades.
so they take the time at night,
to shame me for these ways.
I want them to come upstairs,
with smiles on their face.
to praise me for the things I do do right,
and not the things I do wrong.
they stormed out of the room
