Mama

My Mama Hates Me
It’s such a chilling notion for a kid of twelve years old to have, but it has always been obvious to me. My mama hates me, she loathes me, she wishes of my demise, and me her.

She never treats me like a daughter. At day, she refuses to buy me pretty clothes that all of my friends have. She refuses to let me help her cook. She doesn’t even let me stay home alone. What she says to me daily is, “go play outside, Boy. Don’t come home. I never want to see you home.”

At night, she always forces me to eat more than i want. Poultry, pork, cheese. She chooses foods that will make me fat and forces them down my throat. Then she stays around to make sure I don’t puke it up later. She makes me feel fat and ugly. I’ll never be pretty to anyone.

I have shiny, soft, blonde hair, but Mama never lets me grow it long. When I grew up and got breasts and curves, she stops cutting it short and just shaves my whole head bald. She does it because she’s jealous. Because my hair is nicer, and I’m the prettier one in the family. I think she’s jealous of me, because I can see my father only giving me attention and not her.

My wretched, devilish mama never ever lets me do anything fun. No singing, dancing, or anything that makes me feel pretty and good. She dresses me with the worst, most boyish clothes that she can find and then parades me around the neighborhood. I get looks of pity from everyone and the only thing I can do is bow my head to the embarrassment.

I looked at my bald head and my smelly clothes and I decided that I’ve had enough. The next time she tells me what to do, I’m not going to do it.

Mama comes into my room, and tells me to go play outside. I didn’t move. She comes towards me and starts to yell. I grip the knife I have hidden under my blanket and stab it right into her heart. She falls down onto her knees and says, “I’m sorry. I love you.” her eyes go blank and she falls on her front. Her blond hair mixed with the blood made me feel free. I can finally live the way I want to.

I take a sliver of the blonde hair and hold it to my head imagining what it’s like to have long hair. the thought of it makes me smile, then my father walks in.

My father understands why I did it. He even helped me bury the body and then helped me become the woman I could have been so long ago. My hair is grown out now and I have such pretty dresses thanks to my father.

I was sleeping when I learned the truth about mama. It was when my father came into my room and lied next to me. His hands started to travel under my clothes and could feel his hot breath on my neck. He isn’t wearing any clothes and I can feel his thing poking in between my legs.

“I”ve always known that you’re such a pretty girl,” he said. “Good thing that your mama isn’t around to protect you anymore.” protect you anymore.”