If you really knew me, you would know you have no idea who I really am.
You would know I like Jack Nicholson enough to risk my eternal glory.
I don't watch rated-R movies to upset you, there's just something about the mans face.
Sorry, Brody Berry is not my type and sometimes I stutter.
Believe it or not, I respect what you say.
I look up to you enough to know you are starting to get gray hair and sometimes you get sad.
We both do.
You hate moms job as much as I do, but she went to college longer so don't even think of bringing it up.
We know she's always right.
If you really knew me you would know I worry about you sometimes.
I worry one day you'll realize you deserve so much better than the love you were never given and leave nothing but the unsuccessful peace you could never bring into our home.
Trust me dad, you're a catch.
My Zupas manager told me so.
But please don't leave, I need someone to change my lightbulb.
I like music just as much as you.
But I can't stand listening to another song about whiskey. Or woman. Or heartbreak. Or red solo cups.
So please turn the radio down.
Turn the radio down and lets talk.
Ask me questions and pretend you are interested in what I have to say, despite my answers.
Ok, don't ask.
But for once I am going to tell you anyway.
I dress the way I do because I was never pretty enough to be a cheerleader and I have spunk.
I think about brains because I am fascinated with what brains think about.
What they create.
What they produce.
What they destroy.
And sometimes, I wonder what they taste like.
I don't collect bugs anymore because I don't want to curse them with the same fate I've been given, permanence.
I like asparagus but am a vegan because I'm tired of feeling heavy.
I want to fly with the birds, not eat them, so stop looking at me like that.
Stop looking at me like I disappoint you.
Like I think I know it all.
Stop looking at me like you wish I were someone else.
Someone that will be content.
And reserved. And happy. And a role model to their siblings. And secure. And brave. And ok. And normal.
Because dad, I am not.
I am not normal and I do not believe in what you do.
Stop looking at me with disgust because I do not bring you eternal father with me to school.
God has been nothing to me but an acquaintance I occasionally visit when I am told.
Like a sick grandmother in the hospital.
Difference is, I will switch the flowers I brought grandma when they die with pretty, yellow daisies.
The skeletons in your closet invite mine over for Thanksgiving dinner, every year.
That's right, they are related.
Clearly different, but relatable.
So please relate with me and help me make my bones pretty like yours.
The skeletons in my closet want to be shiny and clean too.
I stay up late at night just to do it and sometimes I crave peanut butter.
I wash my hands a little too much because I am scared of catching it.
Catching Basketballs and Baseballs and footballs and soccerballs and a cold.
I've always been uncoordinated and a little too fragile.
I'm sorry.
I'm Attracted to boys who are nothing like you because I am too much like mom
And I am not going to pretend it could work.
I am always too cold and right now, right now I'd rather be in my room.
Just because I like it.
I am your daughter and I love you.
My name is Brelynn.
But now the kids in my English class know more about me than you ever will.
I didn't grow up in their arms, I don't even know half their names.
So please dad, ask me questions.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)