Unheard

I was bleeding, and you blamed me for stains on the carpet. I was suffocating, and you called me lazy and slow. I was trying to survive, and you called me harsh and heartless. I was restless, and you said I was never enough. So what truly do you want from me? Do you want to see me suffer and bleed? Is the only thing you care about perfection? I am not the one to blame. Not the one who should carry all this pain. The heartache and drowning pleads for help that you so easily ignored. So tell me, mother, what do you want more? More success? A hand to hold? Or just the perfect daughter? It hurts me to never be able to give you what you deserve. You didn't deserve what happened to you, but neither did I deserve to live as a copy of you.