You make me straighten my hair.
You tell me the boys will find it pretty.
You make me wear that ugly yellow sundress.
You tell me I need to look presentable.
You make me wear make up with brand names I can't even pronounce.
You tell me all the girls wear it.
You make me smile at big parties and you make me hold the glasses with my pinky tucked around them in a specific way and you make me buy of those ugly dresses while telling me to lose weight because if my thighs touch people will makes jokes about me and of course, no one should make jokes about your daughter who has the perfect grades and the perfect hair and the perfect eyes and the perfect nose and the perfect behaviour and the perfect way of holding big glasses of big rich people.
I try to say something.
You look at me with your brown eyes blazing and I still remember staring into them as a child and feeling like they were my home and suddenly I'm not angry I just want to ask you what happened and where I went wrong.
"Now, now darling, what did I tell you?"
"No one will love me if I look unattractive."
"That's my girl."
Mommy.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Hearts
Poetry"You either get it down on paper or jump off a bridge." - Charles Bukowski Just snippets of stories I can't seem to get out of my head. All cover credit goes to the wonderful @mydearcc
