I can't say a word.

Children are to be seen and not heard.

My legs are shaking, I'm so weak.

Even when I've been taught that I shouldn't, at your questions that shouldn't receive answers, you expect me to speak.

"Hi Daddy! How was your day?"

"Imperfect now that you've got in my way."

Oh...

I'm sorry, I should've known better.

In depths of my mind I believed you've gotten steadier.

But still, your quips leave me quaking.

I'm sadly mistaken.

I should not have made myself so vulnerable.

Perhaps I could've survived, if I only had the time.

To quiet myself.

Shut myself up.

Make it so I wasn't seen so much.

But I'm stupid, so I ruin it all.

Deeper and deeper in my father's opinions I fall.

"Hi Dad, how was your trip?"

"I wish I was still away, now skip away before I flip you over."

I run away heart bouncing with worry.

Why must I fearfully dash in such a hurry.

I'm sorry.

What did I do?

Why must I try so hard to be viewed by you?

"Good morning, Father, Have you seen my grades? You'd really be happy if you were to see how well I'm doing. I've never felt so great."

He glances over the paper for no more than a minute and doesn't even turn his body towards me.

His eyes do not rise from his phone.

His silicone form isn't even in my mind.

Apparently I'm not good enough.

Apparently I haven't a parent.

"You should be at the top of your class, didn't I teach you anything? You're quite a dumb lass. If I see one more B- on this card you'll be grounded and you'll never be allowed to go far."

"I'm sorry, I'll try harder, I'll get better, I promise."

"Go away now, I will not give you any solace."

Over fourteen years of being pushed away.

And for some reason, you wonder, why I don't want to stay.

I'd stay up and practice my math all night.

I'd read and I'd write, praying I could make you happy.

Each time you left me alone I wrote poems hoping you'd read them some day.

You never did, you never will.

I've tried so hard.

I ran to the washroom and sat at the sink.

Looking into the looking Glass.

I ask,

Why aren't I good enough?

No answer,

Just the plinking and sploshing of the water droplets falling from the faucet to the concave surface of the sink.

My father has ignored me my entire life, and still, like built up water he expects me to want to remain.

Ariah Christman