Do I cut the ties that bind me
to the obligation of loving my parents?
If they were strangers,
I acknowledge their existence and
the sentiment would be returned.
I pass them by without a ripple of guilt.
As their only child,
I assume I am their pride and joy.
But I am a figurehead.
Polite conversation ensues and
niceties are exchanged.
It doesn't last.
Stuck in suspended adolescence where
I'm expected to have answers and know
how to live my new life,
but not allude to my new life as
a wife to my husband.
Tears were shed at the mention
of me wasting their hard work upon
hearing I was going to work with young
children rather than already following
the path of any New York Times author.
Had a friend told me this,
I would never want them back in my life.
As my parents granted me life,
I feel bound to forgive them and am
crippled by the anxiety of failing them.
Do I cut the ties that bind me to
the revolving door of failing to be
the daughter I wanted to be for them?
Am I capable of seeing my parents as
the complicated and closeminded
people I have a hard time bonding with?
They won't be capable of The Real Me.
Time to play the part.
The curtain rises. Showtime.
YOU ARE READING
Caffeine and Me
PuisiA collection of poetry ranging from brain farts to exploring why I bother getting up in the morning. Most likely there is some form of caffeine to keep me awake (or alert) enough to type my thoughts out regarding my depression, struggles within my d...
