to be proud when she thinks of me. That is why
And when she looks at me I doubt she sees the most beautiful
girl in the world. That is what daughters are supposed
to be - the most precious and the most beautiful
treasures. But I am only scrap covered with
rust that stands right next to the true
jewels my mother can never have.
She says nothing but she will
always compare and quietly
cry and wish she could
Why does my existence hurt her so much?