Tag: about mom

when your mother tells you you’re beautiful
smile and say thank you. 
do not tell her that you don’t really care how beautiful you look because:  1) you know your worth, and 2) your confidence doesn’t come from how attractive others find you. 

when your mother tells you what to wear
give in and let her dress you like a doll. 
do not fight for your right to dress how you please; deny yourself the ability to represent your gender identity the way you feel comfortable. wear the goddamn dress to church.  

when your mother tells you you’ve gained weight
laugh and crack a joke. 
do not tell her how rude and unnecessary her comment is, or that you wish she’d stop placing so much value on your looks, because it’s taken you a long time, but you’ve finally learned your weight does not define you or your beauty. 

when your mother says you ‘don’t need’ to be eating the coconut milk ice cream out of the carton,
tell her she’s right and put it back in the freezer.
do not take another bite and tell her to mind her own business because you can eat what you damned well please.

do not remind her that you no longer share her body. 

do not remind her that her opinion doesn’t matter anymore. 

do not remind her you are not her mirror.

how to never get in an argument with your mother // a.s.m

a three thousand square foot
barbie dream mansion in
greenwich, connecticut.
a family of four and a dog
you didn’t want but have
grown to love.
a box of a
nuclear family sold
on shelves everywhere.

but this wasn’t supposed to be
you. you were supposed to be
on the Saturn V. you were supposed to
get out of this place. this world
was never big enough for you,
and yet somehow it has boxed you in– 
as square as the
crusts you cut
off their sandwiches before they run
to the morning bus– a line
as straight as the knife
you cut it with, a knife too dull
to cut through to the parts of yourself that
you try not to think about
when you close your eyes
next to him every night.

there are still some nights where
you fall asleep on the couch
with the t.v. on and the remote
on your belly, and you let go
and accidentally dream of the moon.

sometimes she dreams of the moon // a.s.m