When I was four
My mom would squeeze me into a suffocating dress
With ruffles that would make me itch
Like pins and needles jabbing from every stitch
Until I ripped it off without a sigh
While a tear rolled down my eye
When I was seven
My mom would paint my nails
Colors of a blooming flower
And for that hour
She would restrain my small hand
Becoming as rough as the sand
Until it became dislocated limb
One I could never put back in
When I was nine
My mom would make me play with Daisy
She would give me a death stare and act crazy
Since I took a while to pick up the Barbie […]