But Mommy

But Mommy,

if I showed you who I really was

you'd hate me even more than you do now.

It's okay.

I know I'm hard to love.

I didn't turn out like you wanted me to.

In fact I think I'm your biggest fears brought to reality.

The monster under your bed came alive as your daughter.

But Mommy,

the hickeys on my neck are all I have left

of the boys who only kiss me goodbye.

I'd tell you all about them but you'd only yell.

But Mommy,

I don't go for a run

because sometimes you push me too hard

and my ribs start showing

and I call that beauty.

Because that's when Mommy compliments me.

I'd tell you all about this but you'd only cry.

But Mommy,

my grades aren't perfect because I'm not that smart.

My mind isn't at school when I'm there.

School isn't my strength but you just keep telling me how smart I could be.

Could be.

So I work hard only to not be good enough by two points.

I earn praise with points.

I'd tell you that but you'd only disagree.

So one day I stopped calling you Mommy.

Because I didn't want my mommy to look at me like that.

But Mommy,

it breaks my heart too.