Rag Doll

I feel ashamed, though I am a person.

I feel unheard, though I am your daughter.

I feel like a rag doll, though I am not a doll.

I feel homesick, though that does not matter.

What matters is you.

When I am away, I should be thinking of you every minute and hour of my labor.

You told me the Land of Opportunity would do me some good.

Well, tell me, is being denied entry to public establishments because of my accent good?

What about being followed and scowled at by law enforcement because of my pigment?

Is that good too?

And don't forget about the annual Pop Goes The Weasel going on in the schools.

Is this the life you dreamt of for me? For us?

If so, I don't want it.

I know you want what's best for us all.

Well, so do I.

I would walk on a bed of nails to preserve you, to preserve us right now.

Unfortunately, I can no longer deny the split riding up my back.

You talk about taking responsibility and stepping up to provide for the family as if my education and my job don't remind me of that enough.

You hold these high expectations over my head like a water balloon, and when I don't meet them, you drop the water balloon over my head, drenching me in your verbal lashings.

You pull me one way while they pull me another.

I just don't know how long I can hold on before I rip in half.