I’ve always stepped across,
boxes packed tightly,
stairs hoovered neatly,
with my growing legs,
I trip over each step,
There is no room for growth
How could you not know?
you’re onlt small,
So we will not teach you
just make no mistakes
when the time comes.
“for we did it all, at age thirteen:
8 hours studies, juggling four jobs,
Reading five books, spending hours
outside and we never missed a bedtime”
Yet where did it get you?
And so over time,
I subsided to Procrustes tortures,
Got better at lies,
streched out my arms
Cut off my legs
But your table is always changing
Now I’ve grown up
I made my decisions
But you ask why I struggle with
appearance
Always too short,
Why are you streched ?
That’s not the way
You were meant to expand…
So Miss, when you say
“stop rewriting, it doesn’t have to be
perfect”
I’m just showing my gratitude
for their imperfect love.
