PureVolume

what my parents want.

They want me to clean my room; it'll be dirty again tomorrow.
They want me to make my bed; I'll be sleeping in it tonight.
They want me to save my money; it'll be needed the day I get it.

They want to control me.

What I say, what I do, what I wear, where I go, who I'm with.

They should get their own life instead of trying to take mine.

It's not my fault they wasted theirs.

It's not my fault they grew old too damn soon.

It's not my fault they didn't have fun while it lasted.

They think they have a nice little girl to hold onto.  
They don't know anything I do.
They don't know I say "fuck off" behind their backs,
Or the things that I've tried,
Or the clothes that I've bought,
Or the places I've snuck out to go,
Or the people I hang out with everyday after school
instead of staying after for extra science help.

Yet, still they feel the need to tell me
how to behave, how to stay quiet, how to live my life.
And they still don't know that I'm ignoring them.

And my mom wonders why I don't talk to her
about boys,
about school,
about friends.
She doesn't know that I don't trust her.
She doesn't know she's one of the reasons
that I don't trust most people.
She doesn’t know, and she never will.

She doesn’t listen.

So she takes me to The Psychiatrist.
Mrs. I-can-help-anyone-because-that's-my-job.
She doesn't know me. She never will know me.  
She takes my mom's side. She doesn't know my mom.
And she never will know her like I do.
She doesn't know mom screams when we're alone.
She doesn't know mom's warm when we're around friends.
Some may call it, oh I don't know... fake?

And then my dad wonders why I don't sit and
watch the game,
eat my dinner,
go outside.
He doesn't know I'm not into the same things as him.
He doesn't know I'm not like other people like him.
He doesn’t know I am my own self,
That I don't follow others, especially ones like him.

And I’ve told him.

He just doesn’t listen.

They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

(And who the hell are "they" anyway?)

And in this case, the apple does fall far away.
Not even in the same field.
Not even in the same city.
Not even in the same world.
I don't even think there is an apple.
I think it's an orange.
An orange from an apple tree.

They've held me back, put me in a cage by myself
For hours, for days, for weeks, for months.
But don't worry. I won't let them down.
I won't ignore them. I won't embarrass them.
That is, not unless they deserve it.
Oh. That's right… they do.

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