Sta.sh
Do you know what it’s like,
To be terrified of eating
In front of you?
I know I will get a look,
Or a comment
And sometimes even a rant
On my terrible eating habits
You’ll scold me
And tell me I’ll end up obese
Just like my father
Do you know what it’s like,
To not make eye-contact with the mirror?
Because I don’t even remember
The color of my eyes
Do you know that, even with all my strength,
You still hurt me in the subtlest of ways?
Nobody else can get to me,
But you can
And you do
Do you know what it’s like,
To tell you I’m not okay
And have you throw medications at me?
Because pills don’t solve problems
Do you know what it’s like,
To see families rallying for their gay children,
And then to come home to stories,
Of how offended you were to be called
A lesbian
Offended that you “looked” like a lesbian
You don’t know what offense is.
Did you know that every time that you refer to,
“My future husband”,
That I feel as though I want to vomit?
And the worst of it all?
I’ve told you these very things,
Probably a hundred times
Both with my voice and my eyes
Yet I cry every night
Because you don’t look at me,
Like your daughter anymore
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