i am the perfect daughter through and through

i am meek

i am demure 

i am quiet

my words are soft

and

fall 

          to the floor

before they even reach their target

much like the goals and dreams

i’ve allowed to wither and die 

because they are

“unbecoming” 

of a girl.

when i was born

i was a mere clump of clay

soft to the touch and easily moldable

each person that came into my life

shaped me to their idea of perfection 

so sometimes, i would curse and blame god for all my problems

other times i would be crass and jump head first into trouble

or i would simply sit still and look pretty

allowing others to admire and critique me 

like a prized painting hanging 

on the wall of the world’s greatest tragedies

“potential” would be the name of my painting

because that is all i am 

i have the potential to be a saint 

to be the greatest scientist, doctor, or lawyer 

i have the potential to be the best daughter, sister, wife, and mother 

but instead

i’m wasted potential

drowning in a pool of regrets and damning insecurities

the water has turned a dark murky black 

as the devil on my shoulder beats the angel into a mere husk 

of what used to be

positivity and goodness

yet, when I escape into a new world,

i am not wasted potential

i am invincible. 

• diya