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The Critics
June 6, 2022
The tightly held, crumpled paper in hand. Ready to confront the noble critics.
Making my way to the doorstep, I plan. Twisting the doorknob, the fear that mimics.
Running to the trash bin, I toss away. Paper gone, out of sight, then I could hear.
Footsteps coming down stairs, to my dismay. I grab a seat, them closing in near.
Who I knew as my mother and father. Their lifeless expressions could say a lot.
Speaking secretly to one another. The numerous talks about school I fought.
Sixty on my trashed test - one of the flaws. Pressure felt to be better than I was.
© Anonymous
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About being 'never good enough' to your parents and their profound expectations.