I wrote a letter.
8 months ago.
to my mother.
About how I wanted to belong.
I wanted to be different, but still belong.
And in a catholic school where I was chastised by the faculty and outcasted by my peers,
Most of them called me "that girl with the big holes in her ears"
They said it was for attention, or because I was unloved.
I said it's my body, why do you give a fuck?
How Many bracelets I wear or how many times I've stabbed my ears,
Maybe me being myself was always your greatest fear.
In the 10th grade I chopped off my giant chunks of my hair,
and you cried when the scissors took away your little girl.
Was it because you hated who I was growing to be?
Was it because i was growing up?
but not grown up enough to make love to a boy
Because I still don't know what the fuck love is even though I always pretend to make it
but i was sad enough to make love to razors and pills
And sad enough to pick out my funeral outfit.
Then I began to think about who would show up I my funeral, when in actuality the only thing that I cared about would be the music they were playing and how glad I was to be dead.
and i was obsessed with the thought of my demise.
and you didn't fucking notice mom, did you?'
not until the day i thew up and left it in the toilet
because you were so enfatuated with suffocating my personality
you didn't notice that i was slowly dying
you didn't notice i stopped singing my songs
and you didn't notice the girl who i really was.
You took me to a therapist because you weren't there to talk to.
You couldn't live with a suicidal kid and cancer kid too.
i got over it.
you'd never bee happy with who i wanted to be.
my skirts always an inch to short, my nails are always too dark of a shade.
well mom im 18, i will do what i want one of these days
you told me you would kill me if i got that tattoo
is is sad that i can envision your hands around my throat?
and mom remember that day when i told you i lost it?
that "god sent gift" that i could only give away once?
ever since then you never fucking looked at me the same.
can you please just look at me the same?
before you hated who i was?
why the fuck do you hate who i am mom?
i know you really love me
but this is becoming a problem.
i can't stand to be compared.
because i'm a personality and not what I wear.
if you knew about the boys who i spent myself on
you would have a fucking heart attack i swear to god mom
And if you knew the way I abuse these substances
You would probably be throwing up just like I did in 2012
Well I fit in now, so I guess your dream came true
Not in the sense that you wanted me to
So put up with this punk for 3 and a half more years
Because I'm a bad girl and I don't have any fears
Six months later
We ate still exactly where we were in that letter 8 moths ago
I never told you mom