Your voice's volume grows louder,
as your words scratch at my already open wounds.
You think I am the image of confidence and acceptance,
when really,
I 'm judging and critiquing my every move.
You say you wouldn't miss me,
If I left this world tomorrow,
which makes me wonder,
If you wouldn't miss me,
Then who would?
I feel I am not living up to the role you have given me,
and for that,
I am not sorry.
I'm not stylish.
I 'm not gangster.
I'm not shopping prone,
or addicted to the opposite gender.
I am Me.
I am logical, and book smart.
I love art, not material items.
I hold sentimental value, over dollar value.
And I know what is important to me.
And Dear Sister of Mine,
someday you will realise,
that I am a person,
well-rounded, and whole.
You may never come to understand me,
or relate to me at all,
but I do hope that someday you will accept me for who I am.
Someday,
You'll have to make the call.
