First Daughter

June 24, 2011
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An angel.
God’s perfect piece of pottery.
A painting splattered in mindsets.
A role model.
A beauty.
A virgin until marriage.
Legs properly crossed
Skirt not too short
Shirt not too tight
Always smiling and waving and hugging
Never presenting any true emotions
Never daring to state any opinions
What my mind thinks, doesn’t matter
People’s desires are my puppeteer, they control me
Words put into my mouth, like a stoic, ventriloquist dummy
Desperately trying to follow every demand
Life’s marvelous and melancholy marionette
Being who people expect me to be
Being someone I’ll hate, inevitably
Being a piece of pottery that will break, eventually
Being a painting, retouched times, innumerably
Being judged, constantly
Hatred building in my heart, indefinitely
Placed on a pedestal, involuntarily
All my past, present, and future mistakes accessible for all to see
The Christ… my Redeemer
The Cross…my Shelter
The Bible… my Friend
The Pastor… my Dad
I do what is expected of me
Because Hell isn’t an option.

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