Somewhere To Write

Posted by Anonymous on 2011/06/21 under Uncategorized

I hate how you make me feel like dirt. I am so proud, proud of the little things. I try so HARD to be perfect, for you and everone else…for myself. I want to be perfect artistically, with my drawings and photography; academically and most of all, physically. I NEVER WANT TO BE SEEN WEAK. An yet these little things you say make me break, because of the fact that you are my parents…my drawings aren’t right, I draw myself too pretty, and I draw “innapropriate” things. My photos don’t have good enough color, the subject isn’t right, and you think the shutter going off behind a closed door means I’m taking revealing pictures; I couldn’t touch my camera for WEEKS after you said that. I want to be that A student, have good grades and go to my hometown college, but you make me ashamed of myself,rub my face in how many missing assignments I have, all those math tests I failed, and you ask why I didn’t tell you? WHY WOULD I?! And you talk to me as if all I am, all I’ll ever be is your daughter, the student.
Oh, but the worst…I take whatever pride I can in my appearance. I find myself attractive on a good day and will get majorly pissed if my hair looks bad and according to you, I never take care of my nails, my thighs are flabby, I’m to skinny in the waist, my bras don’t fit, my face is oily and bumpy and now…now I dress in rags? YOU ASKED ME why I dress so poorly? And that YOU felt bad. Well you’ve really hit home on that one; and then you wonder why don’t I tell you things? Why I’m always alone in my room and don’t want to talk to you, and when I say I suppose because I fear you will judge me, you deny that you will, BUT YOU DO! You do it so many times, and I just swallow it because I must, I MUST appear strong, and can’t slip. So I am, in fact, terrified of what you’d say if I told you who I am, and it doesn’t help that my best friend lives across the country, and our relationship is “innapropriate” too, meaning I can’t call him. And it will always astound me that you can’t understand why I won’t sing in front of you. I just want to be myself…I want to sing, but fear, fear of YOU won’t allow it.

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