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The one my relatives boast about,
“Do you know my granddaughter?”
“She has outstanding grades”
“She’s the best granddaughter I could ever ask for”
“I know she’ll marry a great guy”
But I am not a daughter,
I don’t know what I am,
Or who I am,
But I am not who they want me to be,
I am merely a reflection of what I’ve learnt is seen as “perfect”,
It’s all a facade,
My grades may be outstanding,
But I am falling apart,
And I have secrets,
Secrets that contradict their assumptions about me,
But I keep my lips sealed,
Because it would break them.
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