perfect

Why am I down here, why am I down here when I need to be up here, up here with the ones who have promising careers who listen when information goes in one ear and doesn't come out the other. I will NEVER be up here, I act as if the act of listening is a crime or I would have heard my mother the after the 666th time she told me to stop chewing on my nails like a piece of rubbish, I can't be rubbish I have to be perfect I have to be perfect like her.

She gets up at 5 in the morning everyday, she starts her day the same way worried that she'll collapse as her bones will start to decay from cleaning up my scrapes. "Why is your room such a mess" she asks "the clothes go in the hanger, not displayed on your bed like your lack of morals, not littered on the floor collecting more dust then my withered expectations" she thinks that I disregard her rules as a stubborn contempt of a teenage rebellion but I can't be a rebel because I am not interesting enough. She demands me to obey and say okay with a smile on my less than average face you need to try harder Kiesha, make it wider Kiesha why don't you know how to smile. I see it in her eyes that I disappoint her, i never appreciate what she does for me I never try to be a winner and i never eat my dinner, i never eat the dinner she consistently provides for me as she constantly reminds me of the life she set aside for me. She says "this meal doesn't pay for itself i don't care if its ideal, stop telling me how you feel" I need to eat it, eat it all, eat it at a reasonable time with a glass of milk, I need milk like i need a catalyst for growth I'll never grown to be tall be tall like her she drinks her milk i need to drink my fucking milk. I need to be tall, i need to be perfect, i need to be perfect like her.

I need to pay more attention. I need to stop daydreaming. I need to stop staring at the ceiling as if my one wondering talent lies hidden and plastered. I need to organise my life, my life is a disaster just like my teeth, just like my room, just like my future that will soon come to an end if I don't put down that pen I need to stop writing, my life is not book why does my mother always give me that look. I know she is trying to help me, she is trying to love me, i have to let her love me so that i can be perfect, be perfect like my mum