idk what this is

 

You always said I had something to say, but we don’t speak anymore.  My mind talks to yours though, I think.  Can you hear me?  I always thought I had a guard up, but that was just you.  You guarded me from the world, and I think maybe I liked the safety.  I thanked you for your protection but I should’ve seen you for the brick wall you hid me behind.  You made it look nice though, like an art project for your drawing class.  You used to draw pictures of me, but I never would’ve thought that I was the project, perfectly primped to your liking, like you were gonna eat me for dinner.  Every time you fixed my makeup I thanked you for your help.  And every picture you took from a carefully selected angle as if to not show my uglier side, I thanked you for those too.  But they were never for me though, were they?  It always took weeks for you to send me the pictures you took after I asked and asked.  “It’s my photography project,” you would say, and you were right.  I felt at home with you, because I felt safe inside myself, because you never let the world see my imperfections and never let me see them either.  Every ugly drunken night was an erased memory for me anyway.  And you were always there to clean the vomit until I got used to using it for a pillow.  Gross could just be another cute dimension to my charming personality that you dutifully constructed.  You hid my ugliness in the dark shadows of our dorm room until I forgot they were there.  And then months later, the smell of its rottenness overtook our febreeze, and you were so shocked that I was truly imperfect the whole time, that you locked me out to find some more vomit to sleep in, because you forgot I wasn’t your daughter or something, when I would jokingly call you “mama.”

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