small entry. small thoughts.
but i have just this one thing to get out.
i don't understand what it is between mothers and daughters. specifically, between me and my mother.
she begs me to be myself. but when i wear a black crop shirt with fringe, she winces, and tells me...
that's not who i am.
and so i try. i wear this fuzzy white sweater, angora itchiness abounding, and a loose pair of jeans. but unfortunately; inherently, i know...
that's not who i am, either.
i will never be what my mother upholds as respectful and impressive in a woman. and that hurts.
the only thing that hurts more is understanding that something she finds sacred is also something i find frivolous.
she believes that the attire you don doesn't define who you are. unless, of course, you are her daughter.
i am sorry, mom. i love you. i respect you. you are right. clothes don't make the woman.
but they don't break her, either.
1:53 a.m. - 2001-09-04
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