“The Perfect Child”

The perfect child,

always timid, always mild,

Who constantly feels like she’s on trial.

Whenever hurt, she forces a smile, 

For if she doesn’t, 

then the judgement follows.

They don’t understand her, 

or her sorrows,

Nor does she.

But at the very least,

unlike those who forget 

what they have promised, 

she has the decency

to always be honest.

She gives her best, blood, and sweat

In order to please that voice in her head

As well as anyone else who takes the time

To let her have a chance

Her chance to shine.

She comes home with As, 

and begins her work each day

Without being asked, 

she stays on track

But rather than hearing praise, 

she mostly hears of her mistakes.

Why?

Why is it that no matter what I do,

Or how much I do, is not enough. 

Can’t they see how broken I am?

For God’s sake!

How many bones do I need to break,

As a way to repent for my mistake

What they can’t see; I live down on my knees aiming to please!

They only see the shell of a girl, standing on her two-feet. 

She played the role of the perfect child for far too long

And now, 

each time that she looks in the mirror,

she can hardly look at that empty shell

without the constant fear

that she might let someone down

And those who surround her 

could not bare the thought:

that maybe, just maybe, 

the perfect child 

was never perfect at all;

but rather, just sick and tired 

of hiding her “flaws”

Tired of them acting like 

I broke some law.

Tired of feeling them 

take my air away to breathe!

When I’m tired, which is always, 

I ask myself the question: 

why can’t I just be the perfect girl that they want me to be?

I wonder what their approval would feel like…Would I feel free? 

Possibly. 

Free of the pain that I feel each day?

But then I wouldn’t be myself.

I guess that makes me both 

a sadist and a masochist

Because I choose to both inflict 

and take in the pain. 

All the while, I could be free of this pain…

And yet I’d rather be perfectly imperfect and be myself

Than to subject myself to being your little American Girl Doll

Sorry to burst your bubble 

but the supposed “perfect child” you raised is just way better than I am at hiding her “flaws” as well as her pain.