They want me to be a perfect little girl.
He wants me to be Christian.
She wants me to be straight.
But how is something expected to be perfect when it comes from something broken?
My father speaks of holy things, as he drinks a bottle of liquor.
My mother speaks of a happy family, as she commits acts of infidelity.
A perfect little girl is what they dream of me to be.
But I am broken beyond repair.
I have scars, and cracks that cannot be undone.
I cannot be their perfect little girl, but their broken one.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoesieThis is a book filled with poems that I have written myself. Most of them are depressing, so you have been warned.
