A girl in pieces.

She Thinks Otherwise

I'd like to think I'm a good person.

My mother thinks otherwise.

I'm "rude and ungrateful."

Sorry for not picking up my t-shirt off of the floor. I've been a little tired lately.

"Can you do what I say for once?"

Should I keep cutting myself since you said "Why don't you keep cutting yourself for attention? That's all you want."

Should I keep starving myself just to please you because "that's why you're fat; you keep eating all of this junk."

Then you ask me why I don't eat as much anymore. I wonder why mom.

I'd like to think I'm a good person.

My mother does not agree

"Just a 4.0 award?"

The award is ripped and thrown into the trash right in front of my eyes.

I do not flinch.

I do not cry.

At least not in front of my mother.

I'd like to think I'm a good person.

I am not sure if my mother would agree.

I am sorry that I am not everything you would like me to be.

Maybe if I was more like my sister you would love me.

Maybe you would run your fingers through my hair and whisper soft coos into my ear as I fell asleep.

Or maybe you would have wiped the blood off of my arm while I sat there crying.

Instead, I cried myself to sleep while you and my sister talked in the other room.

Excluding me from whatever you were talking about.

Instead, I sobbed in the bathroom watching the red rivers run down my arms.

I told myself I deserved to hurt.

And you just egged me on even further.

I'd like to think I'm a good person. My mother doesn't think so.