I can't remember what I did last week

Once I finish it, it's gone.

Must clean. Must take care of the dogs. Schoolwork. Balance. What balance? What is balance?

Take a break, sit down, try to add some value to the scramble.

"You're so lazy. You don't do anything. You're almost eighteen. You know where the garbage can is."
I was still using that plate....

Lay down for a too-brief sleep. Beg for a reprieve with the one person who understands only to get a "we'll see."
You know you tell me all the time to give you a real answer, why don't I deserve one?

Do you realize that I'm trying? That I can't create when you're sitting over my shoulder, hounding me about schoolwork when you don't know what I have due, trying to tell me not to be with my friends when I haven't had one physically over since the fifth grade.

I'm trying to be your perfect child, but I will never be your perfect son.
But sometimes I still wish I was a boy so I didn't have to take the added "pretty."

I'm so tired, mother. Teachers. Friends. I'm trying so hard.
But I just can't live up to expectations.



This basically sums up how I felt last year to a tee, and I'm glad your poem turned out better than mine; mine was just a rant and it was a bad rant. I think this is really well-written.

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