I’d see a few things:
The sweet girl my father claims I used to be.
The daughter who adored her dad,
making guitar sounds as a way of insisting
he play his favorite musician
in the downstairs tv room.
The supposed nonchalance towards the oohs and aahs from strangers.
Simply looking at them.
I was unimpressed by their fawning.
The school meeting
where the teacher said,
“This girl is going places.”
I wonder if the cloud those words created
would be visible, so many years ago.
Little me, burdened with glorious purpose
and the weight of the world's expectations.
The sweet girl my father claims I used to be.
The daughter who adored her dad,
making guitar sounds as a way of insisting
he play his favorite musician
in the downstairs tv room.
The supposed nonchalance towards the oohs and aahs from strangers.
Simply looking at them.
I was unimpressed by their fawning.
The school meeting
where the teacher said,
“This girl is going places.”
I wonder if the cloud those words created
would be visible, so many years ago.
Little me, burdened with glorious purpose
and the weight of the world's expectations.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.