Why don’t they understand that I’m not seven years old anymore. That I need to be left alone sometimes. That I can make some decisions on my own. They don’t get that I can’t talk to them about everything that happens to me, because they get overly involved and annoy me over the littlest things. Why don’t they let me stay up to finish a book I really want to read – insisting on binding me to a bedtime. Why don’t they understand that I don’t have to stick to my textbooks 24*7 to get a decent grade in a test.
Why don’t they take the hint that my mood swings aren’t because I’m going into depression, or that I am not satisfied with the atmosphere they created for me. Why do they tell me that I’ve been acting strange for the past few weeks, even though I’d been as normal as I could have possibly been. Why do they try to enforce their thinking on me. Why do they get upset if I don’t pick up two calls in a row, ten minutes apart. Why do they tell me that I’m not going to make anything out of my life if I still watch cartoons. Why do they think that watching cartoons is all I do?
Why don’t they understand that I need a break once in a while. Why do they keep nagging me to go study. That I wake up early, even though I couldn’t sleep at all for three nights in a row. Why do they tell me I’m wasting my time on doing something – when that something is really the only thing in the world I want to do at that moment. Why don’t they let me love the things that I love.
Why do they get upset over me not wanting to watch a movie I hate with them, then say I don’t spend time with them anymore. Why don’t they think for a second that I don’t enjoy doing everything they do? That instead, they haven’t really tried doing something I loved with me. That I have my own interests – which they seem to think are a waste of time. Why do they harshly criticize my music choices, when I keep shut even though I could say the same about theirs.
Why don’t they understand that I don’t need to be treated like a baby anymore. That I have developed my own likes and dislikes, and not everything overlaps with their opinion.Why do they think I’m pushing them away, when I really just don’t have anything to say. Why don’t they see that some days I’m just no good to do anything. That I need to sit in a corner and think things over.
That I care about them more than they could imagine. That I can’t bear it when they so much as get a paper-cut. Why don’t they understand that sometimes I don’t want to talk to them when I’m angry because I might take my anger out on them. That I’d seen those movies with them before just to keep them company.
Why don’t they get that I share the most important parts of my life with them. That they are the only real support that I have. That all I really need is their happiness. Why don’t they perceive how much I truly value the effort and patience they put into making me the person I am. That I owe them everything I have. That I would be good for nothing without them. That I can’t always tell them how proud I feel to be their child.
That I love them more than anything.