The Bad Daughter

A Poem

Photo by Erick Marroquín on Unsplash

you told all your friends about me,
didn’t you, thinking you’d get
some secondhand pity party
held in your honor?

(you, you, you don’t get a say
in what I do — never, ever again)

you never liked the way I talked —
probably because I reminded you
of women you’d despised,
those who didn’t fall for your games

(you, you, you don’t have a right
to beat me down with your worldview)

you thought I’d pick up the phone
whenever I felt weak, like nothing,
but I knew the score well enough
for all those things you didn’t say

(you, you, you don’t get to play
the role of God in my life)

you scorned me for trying
to break out of a mold,
and your best friend laughed
at how much of a mess I was

(you, you, you don’t belong
in this life I’m trying to salvage)