Mum

You criticize me,
you make me cry.
Nothing I do is good enough,
but I'll never understand why.
I'm not the right size,
I don't wear he right clothes,
I don't speak the way you want,
or act the way you'd like.
To you it's all a game,
you don't realize you cause me so much pain.
It's been like this for as long as I can remember,
only no-one on the outside knows.
They see only the perfect family we portray.
If you'd hit me people would see,
but my bruises are on the inside where only I can see.
You've took so much from me with your vicious tongue,
I'm only half what I should be.
Lately, I've started answering back,
and that you don't like.
I'm starting to make my own choices,
and that you can't control no matter how much you try.
I'd love for you to feel like I do,
but you never will.
Because what you do is an art-form,
that the weak can't master.
Soon I'll be gone and you wont be able to get to me.
I hold on and wait for that day.
When I can finally be me and only me,
I just hope I'll be able to find what me is.
I've struggles with it so far but out from under your criticism,
I'll succeed!