I sit in the dark.
Dark like the irises of my parents eyes when they tell me that I should lose some weight.
Dark like the bathroom I'm hiding in so they won't see me cry.
Why aren't you more like your sister?
Your sister with the blonde hair and the hazel eyes.
She's a cheerleader you know?
And what are you?
Just some chubby girl in drama class with the good grades and intelligence.
But intelligence won't find you a husband and neither will your ability to read books.
Books with pages as frail and rip-able as your self-esteem.
Why? Why in the world are you so tall?
You're never going to find a man and be able to look up into his eyes.
We don't play favorites, they chime together.
Smiles of Guiltless deception perched on their lips,
lips that usually looks like a lowercase N, their disapproval almost as stagnant as the shit coming out of their mouths.
Playing favorites is their favorite game.
One of us playing Princess Peach and the other playing Bowser,
they pit us against each other on the rainbow track while not so secretly cheering on one and not the other.
And you lose,
of course you lose,
because you didn't have confidence from the start.
And their eyes gleam at their perfect daughter,
and you,
you just sit there in the dark.
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