Girls Like Me Monologue
Girls Like Me
“Whats wrong?”
“It’s just, the lawn is never mowed and the house is never clean and….”
“Only skinny people can wear colorful jeans.”
“Only tramps wear fishnets.” “Only…”
“No.”
I bolt awake to the sound of my mother and the scent of morning breath.
“You’re mom hasn’t been the same since her dad died.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’re not enough.”
“Get a back bone.”
“Get a back bone.”
“You need a backbone!”
I am shaking off the sleep and trading it for awake. First I smell bread, then I see and hear, then I touch, and there is warmth- and I am reminded how life will suck today. But I pretend I don’t know this yet because I have just a little more time.
“She kind of looks like a clown.”
“I didn’t mean it.” So, I slog …show more content…
“They just want attention.”
“Tramp”
“Oh honey, girls that look like you can’t do that.”
“You can’t.”
“I can’t.”
So I am reluctant to try it and don’t feel ready at the moment. And of course my most prominent argument? I have told told her all of this, twice, and both times the spat ended with her in control of the situation and so she played for my misery and signed its bill.
But, before we do this, do you wanna come to target with me for an hour...just a fast trip?” She offers and I can’t resist. So, I forget all the of the things I have previously been unable to forget and I go to target. I dress in whatever angsty teen outfit I wear on a normal basis and I live in the white aisles and think and do nothing except for about what soap we need for the guest bathroom. (seemingly an irrelevant detail to the story, but it fits because it is just as stupid as a 14 year old’s memoir, about her cosmically insignificant mommy issues.)
“Tramp”
“Attention.”
“Girls like …show more content…
“Hypocrite.”
It explodes into the silence and then my mother explodes too.
“ Fine! You know what? I don’t even care if you go to clinic today, but you can’t be so passive aggressive, I won't have it!”
I swallow.
Again she is both right and wrong, so when we get back home, I get out of the car, and I change my clothes. And I go to goal clinic.
I don’t enjoy it.
Nobody laughs except for my inner angst.
I am still quiet.
And before bed that night I hug my mother and I tell her I love her, even though what I want to do is tell her she is beautiful. But I can’t make words come, because if I did I would have to call her a most beautiful hypocrite. But we are done fighting.
I am done fighting, even as I lie awake for hours talking to the dark.
“Attention?”
For the first time, the voice seems weak, almost like it does not know what to do with itself.
I am still angry when weeks pass, but the voices fade for the first time in
“Whats wrong?”
“It’s just, the lawn is never mowed and the house is never clean and….”
“Only skinny people can wear colorful jeans.”
“Only tramps wear fishnets.” “Only…”
“No.”
I bolt awake to the sound of my mother and the scent of morning breath.
“You’re mom hasn’t been the same since her dad died.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’re not enough.”
“Get a back bone.”
“Get a back bone.”
“You need a backbone!”
I am shaking off the sleep and trading it for awake. First I smell bread, then I see and hear, then I touch, and there is warmth- and I am reminded how life will suck today. But I pretend I don’t know this yet because I have just a little more time.
“She kind of looks like a clown.”
“I didn’t mean it.” So, I slog …show more content…
“They just want attention.”
“Tramp”
“Oh honey, girls that look like you can’t do that.”
“You can’t.”
“I can’t.”
So I am reluctant to try it and don’t feel ready at the moment. And of course my most prominent argument? I have told told her all of this, twice, and both times the spat ended with her in control of the situation and so she played for my misery and signed its bill.
But, before we do this, do you wanna come to target with me for an hour...just a fast trip?” She offers and I can’t resist. So, I forget all the of the things I have previously been unable to forget and I go to target. I dress in whatever angsty teen outfit I wear on a normal basis and I live in the white aisles and think and do nothing except for about what soap we need for the guest bathroom. (seemingly an irrelevant detail to the story, but it fits because it is just as stupid as a 14 year old’s memoir, about her cosmically insignificant mommy issues.)
“Tramp”
“Attention.”
“Girls like …show more content…
“Hypocrite.”
It explodes into the silence and then my mother explodes too.
“ Fine! You know what? I don’t even care if you go to clinic today, but you can’t be so passive aggressive, I won't have it!”
I swallow.
Again she is both right and wrong, so when we get back home, I get out of the car, and I change my clothes. And I go to goal clinic.
I don’t enjoy it.
Nobody laughs except for my inner angst.
I am still quiet.
And before bed that night I hug my mother and I tell her I love her, even though what I want to do is tell her she is beautiful. But I can’t make words come, because if I did I would have to call her a most beautiful hypocrite. But we are done fighting.
I am done fighting, even as I lie awake for hours talking to the dark.
“Attention?”
For the first time, the voice seems weak, almost like it does not know what to do with itself.
I am still angry when weeks pass, but the voices fade for the first time in