What it Means to Be a Daughter

  You ask me what it means to be a daughter? Listen to me. Here I am strong, independent and with my legs uncrossed and with the stench of my teenage angst near you.

  Being a daughter is whipping your mothers tears that accumulate in her eyes like waves before a tsunami with no warning the wreckage arrives and you must pick the debris. Debris that fills your hands with cuts and bruises, you cover them up because you don't want to cause another tsunami.

  Being a daughter is being excluded. I have always been excluded. Learning at the ripe age of five "girls don't sit like that" "girls don't speak that way" "girls play with dolls not tools do drop that screwdriver" your parents don't understand that even at the ripe age of five you knew you were born to build. I never dropped that screwdriver.

  Being a daughter is confusing it is asking your mother "why does he get to walk freely at night," and getting a sharp response "because he is a boy" as if you should've known this all along why are you even asking. Look at my eyes they are full of ambition and hungry for adventure. I do not wish for a happy ever after what I crave is far beyond a castle upon a hill. I am robbed of a night out on the town where the lights shine brighter than the stars and every bar is blossoming and oozing with diversity. Conversations with strangers are foreign to me, the luxury of learning someone's story is a price I can't afford because my dress will always be "too short" and I had "one too many drinks"

  Being a daughter is building up walls when your brother went missing and you learn to suppress emotions because you are your mothers daughter and the show must go on. Being a daughter means you get to be "daddy's little girl" but what happens when daddy isn't there? Telling daddy about your day through long distance phone calls sure teaches you that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Being a daughter is occasional, occasional visits that take place occasionally every two years and the man that is coming down the escalator isn't the same man you remember from two years ago. He now has a beard full of white hairs, he is balding and has gained ten pounds. His jokes are not as funny as you remember them to be, they are not the jokes that used to make you laugh until your eyes filled up like your mothers tsunami.But remember you will always be "daddy's little girl"

  Being a daughter is looking into a black future. It includes learning how to cook the perfect meal for two and sweeping the floors until you can see your own tired, worn out reflection. Oblivion drowns any other thoughts you might try to fathom, you must do everything you can to be successful because your mother gave up a life full of things she loved for you and your bright future which is something she loved more, giving you the opportunity to never have to depend on a man and making her same mistakes.

  Being a daughter is empowering. One day I might have a daughter and she will learn independence, acceptance and strength the kind that can tear down those walls. Love that stops time just like my mother taught me during our long car rides to "wherever the wind takes us" while "I will survive" plays loudly in the background and my mother stops mid sentence to sing along to her favorite parts.

 Instead of teaching me how to sit and what tone of voice I must use when I speak, teach me about love like my mothers. Make my nights out on the town affordable, because my want for equality shouldn't be followed by questions and sharp responses. I mean why are you even asking you should've known this all along.