Vent.
Dear Mommy,
Like I love you, but today was horrible.
Yeah I felt terrible this morning. My throat was burning and it still does. I have a 96% in both classes. I could probably not turn in my assignments for this week and still get an A for this quarter.
Also it’s MY poem, not yours. It’s my feelings, my expressions, my thoughts. I don’t relate to your lines, and I don’t relate to your story. I relate to the story I lived, to the feelings I go through.
Poetry slam is MY thing. The one thing where I can be free. The one talent I know I have and I don’t doubt myself in.
I don’t want you there tomorrow. I feel so sick but I’m still going tomorrow for the team qualifier. But I don’t want you there.
I don’t want you to tell me how awful my poem is. I don’t want you to tell me that I’m horrible. I don’t want you to make me feel like a faliure.
Because that’s ALL I’ve been feeling this past 2 weeks. Like a failure. In my friendships, in relationships, with Daddy, with everything. I feel so alone at night. I really do and you just make it worse.
I tell you my problems but you just judge me. I can feel you judging me. I can feel everyone judging me and I hate it.
I feel like I won’t get into any colleges because of our financial status. I feel like I’ll be alone forever because I’ll never be attractive enough for anyone. I feel like I’ll always be second best in Daddy’s eyes compared to every single one of my cousins. I feel like I’m a horrible friend to everyone I know. I feel like I’m just a disappointment.
Especially to myself.
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