Cruel Expectations

Slightly hovering above the murky waters is my consciousness,

Slowly drowning.

Mama wants me to change schools and become more social.

Dad wants me to stay isolated, stay in the same school, stay at the top, stay an A+ student, stay his daughter of high expectations, stay his future daughter, stay mute, stay.

A GPA of 4.0 is "fine"

A GPA of 4.13 is "better"

A GPA of 4.23 is "getting better"

My sisters want me to by myself, but they still want me to act like them: more social, more conscientious of my wardrobe, more blunt; start up more polite (fake) conversations, more polite (fake) smiles to show some sort of emotion, more courage to stand up for myself, more friends, more times to have fun, more time for others, more, more, more,...

As a kid, I cared about my grades, but I was more focused on the lastest 

Diary of a Wimpy Kid book instead of whether or not I scored perfectly on 

my tests.

Everything was done out of my own high expectations and personal

tears of frustration.


Now, I float on the stream of anxieties that have seeped from the 

hidden frustrations of those around me.


Sometimes I paddle,

But othertimes,

I lay motionless,

Allowing every lap of salty sneers to lick up my body.


I have to be like more like what my family expects of me.

More like "them",

But less of me.


Is this what it's like to be an adult?

No, it's not.

Instead of floating,

I've slowly learned to dive.

To dive underneath the murky surface

And instead see the crystalline smiles awaiting me.


This poem is about: 
My family


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