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I’m crying out for help and no one seems to notice, Nothing but my flaws and erratic mistakes. When he is in chaos and a single tear drop caresses his cheek, They all seem to scamper after him. But when I display the lion’s share of tears, They tell me to shed more, And that my tears mean nothing to them. They tell me my work isn’t applauded, And whatever I do, nothing will change. They tell me I don’t matter, That they couldn’t feel gratified about me I’m not doing drugs, partying, or smoking. A millions times less problematic, And still not enough? I can’t stand the fact that my life orbits around a planet of satisfying my family and cultural conducts. I can’t stand having to lie to my friends about about going to a birthday party because I wasn’t given approval. I’m a daughter but not my own person. How can I resist comparing my family to other families when I feel all alone? I can’t see anyone in my life going through what I go through so I resist telling anyone how I feel. They mistaken my tortured tears for sickening snot. They offer him a glass of water but for me not even a tissue. Why did you move to Canada if you don’t know what it will be like for your children to grow up here? Second generation Canadians are two clashing children on a teeter-totter, Attempting to live up to both worlds. Why is nobody talking about this? For God’s sake, Break the stigma! Oh break it apart, Let your voice echo! For the dying girl, Save the dying girl! Why does it seem like I’m all alone? Your tears don’t concern me anymore, because when I was shrieking for your tender loving care and comfort to talk about my mental state, You ignored it. Mistaken for the melodramatic and furious girl. You deserve the treatment you gave me. The melodramatic and furious boy.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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