And my mother thinks I hate her
because I am barely 17
and I think I have it all worked out
especially boys, and life
and “I only live once
so I will go and fuck him
on the riverbank
and believe it is romantic
because there are stars shining above my head”
when in reality
I don’t even know my own favourite colour
and I am scared to admit the music that makes me cry.
I may be 17
with wrists of steel and too much eyeliner
but I do know
that when I fall
or when something breaks
or when I’m crying in the gutter smoking my last cigarette
and I hate myself so much that I want to cry an ocean
the only person I want is her.
I want her skin, like soap and mothballs
and I want her warm breasts to sob into.
I want her stories
and her words
and her smell.
The most important relationship a girl ever will or won’t have is with her mum, and
I love you so much.
"A Different Kind of Need", by Rosie Scanlan (via girlchoking