I tend to think this world is full of monsters,
ready to eat me if I don’t fit their standards.
What I can do,
what I wear,
how much I can eat,
Stupid questions that rule our minds.
My dumbass knows my eyes are askew.
They can’t see the wonderful girl my mother does,
or the beautiful daughter my dad loves.
She’s flawed and scarred by a generation of perfect teeth and smiles.
She can’t understand them, neither do they try.
My parents are sad that I’m hurting.
Their beautiful and smart child
is a dandelion, so perfect.
But just a weed to the rest in this orchard.