Oh, really?

You gave me a birthday card. This birthday card was just some words scribbled on wide-ruled paper. In blue pen, it said, Happy birthday, Katie! I love you. You're so smart and can do anything. Be whatever you want to be!"

Really? Be whatever I want to be?

It feels as though I need to have your permission first. You judge me on things as simple as how I dress. Maybe you didn't realize what you were writing. You wrote it down pretty fast, by the looks of it. In my opinion, I don't think it was very heart-felt.

Be whatever you want to be!

Hypocrite. You're such a hypocrite.

All you do is point out what I do wrong. You tend to do the same exact things, only much worse.

You act so mad at me all the time.

You always say I have an attitude. Thank you for pointing that out, because I had no clue. You say I'm just so rude all the time. I can't even begin to explain how much my head can't understand that.

If I'm the rude one, what does that make you? The perfect one?

That's all you seem to think.

Be whatever you want to be!

Those six little words haunt my mind now. I ripped up that "card" and threw it away, hoping to be rid of the sentece.

It didn't work.

I just wish you'd accept me for myself. I thought a mother was supposed to accept her (only) daughter.