Do you ever think maybe your parents don’t give up enough good things? Like your mother gave her body to house you, she gave her time and tears. But maybe parents don’t give up enough of their pride? Maybe I need more assurances then my siblings. But parents refuse to cater to their children being all kinds of different. Now don’t misinterpret. I love my parents and immensely respect them. But they do not talk of love, they do not hum the beat of songs, they do not sigh softly and say things like. This, honey, is why you are alive. My mother is just logic. I feel as though everything I say she wants to find a reason why I’m wrong. That is why when you tell me I’m beautiful, I have already thought of the reasons why I am not. My mind is starving mum. I don’t want you to tell me this outfit looks atrocious on me. Tell me you thought I would like this book or that this picture reminds you that living is not hard. I am not hard. Why do parents feel burden from their children? Why can’t I be seen as a gift? Why does my value for myself, depend on if you value me?