I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for being flawed.

I’m sorry for being imperfect.

I’m sorry

That I can’t be

The perfect daughter

You wistfully imagined I’d be.

Why, mom?

Why is nothing ever good enough?

I know I’m not smart enough.

Not pretty enough.

Not strong enough.

All and all,

Simply not good enough.

You may often say

“I love you,”

But I know

It’s just become a ritual,

Something to say

Out of habit.

If you knew every detail

Every thought

I’ve locked away in my heart,

You’d throw me to the ground.

And flee from this…

…pathetic abomination.

…and never look back.

Slowly, over time…

You’ve become a mindless pawn

A slave to this cruel tyrant

You so willingly call ‘master’.

I flee.

I long for freedom

To escape from these clutches

And everlasting scrutiny.

The tiniest mistake…

The slightest flaw…

Results in immediate torment.

Not physical torment.

Emotional torment.

A bad grade,

A slow time,

They all equal the same thing:

Denial of existence.

Torment.

I may be flawed.

I may be inadequate.

I may be imperfect.

But I am human.

I laugh.

I cry.

I make mistakes.

Denial of existence,

Denial of compassion,

Denial of love.

You say,

“Words can’t hurt anyone,”

But that’s not true.

Broken bones and bruises will heal.

But the gashes in my spirit

Are indelible

And can never be cured.

…It’s rather ironic…

It’s always the people

Who despise us...

It’s always our worst enemy

Whose love

We crave the most.

A poem I wrote about the relationship between me and my dear old mum... I'm not British, I just like the pronunciation of 'Mum'. Ha ha, I'm weird...

Please review, flames welcome.

Purrs,

Frenchie-chan