Did I deserve to eat today,
what justifies my reason?
If I truly deserved the food,
then did I do well enough
to have it on a plate,
or would I be scraping it from the floor?
I would need to gain bonus points
to even dare ask for cutlery.
Worst of all, was trying to be good enough
not to have to eat my own sick.
How dare I think I deserve to be seated
higher than the ground,
for that's where bad girls deserve to stay.
I had to work hard for everything I wanted,
everything I needed,
luxuries that he always controlled.
Visits to the park,
or even just leaving the house.
Clothes were not my right,
earning them was my right,
and responsibility was in me
to know what was right or wrong in his mind.
Pyjamas were easy to earn,
they became the marker that
the horrendous routines of the night
were finally over,
but having a teddy bear was never an option,
for I was never, ever, that good.
Baths became a check point
to assess how well I had done that day,
the worse I behaved,
the more cold water I received.
My childhood became a restricted zone,
I couldn't do anything without permission,
anything I did not earn, or deserve:
Talking.
Looking.
Touching.
Moving.
Loving.
So in the end,
instead of trying to understand
how I could earn these luxuries,
I trained myself
just never to want them in the first place.
