I grew up a bitter child,
And no one notices,
That the former years,
Are taking a toll on me.

My mother never told me I'm pretty,
My father used to scold me,
Because he thought I was,
Never like my siblings.

If you look at me now,
And then go back,
To the old person, you will,
Notice two different people.

It's because,
I have decided,
To have my own way, and satisfy,
My unmet needs of childhood.

I use ash on my face,
Meaning I mask my real self,
Because I think,
My real face will scare people.

I wear torn clothes,
Not because they are old,
But because, I want to show,
My lithe body to the public,
And get comments like,
Oh! You look yummy.
Oh! You very pretty.
All because,
My Mom, spoiled me!


#youarebecauseofyourMom.

@Sarah8313.
©Chichi.