Dear mother,
I’m never going to be the better daughter
Out of the two of us, or rather
You favourite one because
I’m less likely to be you.
While your hand stretches out for
The more subtle outfit; and so does hers,
You’ll find mine going for the darker one.
While she makes rational decisions
Just like you would, I’ll
Choose to go with my intuition.
All the times you’d want us to
Do something only because ‘you say so’,
I’d turn out to be the stubborn one.
I will always be a misfit in your circle
A bit too loud, sparkly, opinionated.
She will accept, I will question
I will chicken out at flashy social gatherings, and
Not be friends with people you find appropriate
She will be sweet, my pragmatism
Might portray me rude.
I will always be the less prettier one,
Lag at flattery, and
Come off as an introvert
I’m sorry; I will never be your favourite
Out of us two, because, for me
You’d never get to hear
“Hey, your daughter’s just like you”.