Long hair, brown eyes,
Not scarred arms and tired sighs.
Hard-working, well turned out
Not wondering what life's all about.
High achiever, motivation
Not constant self deprecation.
A happy glow, good friends and peers
Not a face that's stained with tears.
A perfect daughter, a perfect life
Who'll one day make a perfect wife
With perfect children, a perfect house
And a lovely, perfect male spouse.
Your radiant child with many friends
Is wishing that her world would end.
The constant pressure of who you see:
It's just not the real me.
You know so much of who I am
You never guessed it's all a sham.
For I can never fulfill your dreams
Since I am far from who I seem.
It's a part of my true being
But you made yourself blind from seeing.
Your casual slurs to my own kind
Rot and fester in my mind.
Your perfect girl is not to be.
Yes, a lovely wife you'll see,
But not to that good-looking man -
That was never in her plan.
For her heart lies so far away -
Did you know your daughter's gay?
She hates herself, she's terrified
That's the reason that she lied.
She couldn't bear you finding out -
She knew you'd scream and cry and shout.
She fears so badly your rejection
She changed herself for her protection.
You've watched your fantasy unfurl
But you don't know your little girl.
YOU ARE READING
Into the Depths of Despair
Poetry"I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind. At these times, I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and...
