I am in my early twenties now.
Dad and I often talk about mom,
even as a late teen,
he told me what her childhood was like,
and why she has become the fractured soul
she is now.
___________________________________________________________________________________
She wanted to be a ballerina,
And wear pink shoes and leotards,
And twirl and twirl;
mommy and daddy said no,
That little girls can't profit from pointed toes.
.
Then she wanted to be a vet,
Mommy and daddy said no,
She didn't have the smarts or the hustle,
Being a nurse would suit her troubles.
.
She sought the lifestyle elsewhere,
through charm and deceit,
And painted her new image:
a submissive sweet!
Then, a southern belle: slender, tan, and bold,
The dichotomy of what her parents told.
.
She became a Christian,
And mommy and daddy shook their heads,
Their little princess was no longer the icing
That they could share with friends.
.
She was no longer the daughter they wished to mold,
So they threw her away, tenfold.
.
No icing was left
Not even a sprinkle,
Grandma ate that little girl,
Who admired ribbons and sparkles.
.
She's empty, she's hollow,
And just a shell of an idolized girl,
Who could no longer handle the pressure of being a pretty girl.
.
Dreams of pointe shoes forever haunt her shame,
She became the monster of a girl who hated this game:
.
Now, mommy expects me to play,
along with her as she decays:
Succubi flowers — her yellow madness
Stems that never flourished,
And roots that perished,
Beneath poisonous parents.
.
She could never become the little girl she had tried being,
Which is why she tried eating away my frosting,
Lavender roses and skulls, defrosting.
I was just an edgy girl,
Whose mother hated her bows.
.
The life cycle continues
Because she sings their cues
And never found herself
Outside of the pink and glitter glue.
.
I no longer let the glitter pink vomit stain me in vain,
I know my name, my identity, and the game:
I found myself outside the mold
Of icing that poison's pretty girls.