I am the angry daughter.
The one told all my life —
“your short fuse is not wife material”
My opinions “too opinionated”
My cynicism a path to slaughter.
—
Ive let the wrong people get too close, kept the right ones too far.
Born into wolves with sheep’s clothing.
now
I do not trust authenticity,
I detach at the first sign of conflict
I fear the scars.
—
I am the shoulder that everyone leans on
But god forbid I lean.
So I’ve turned to journalism,
reliable
welcoming
unlike the walls I’ve called home.
Always the writer… never the muse.
Full of love, no one to receive it.
Partially my fault…
I do not know how to wear my heart on my sleeve.
always the lover & never the loved.
Yet afraid to love.
because manipulation wore the mask of home.
Role models looked through my pain—
can’t be proud of my accomplishments —
they were obligations
not choices…
I am a makeshift mother,
marriage counselor
punching bag
Factory set to be ‘convenient’
—
Accessible,
The best people pleaser.
I am…
the angry daughter.
made that way and never known any different.
— PL.