Selfish

My mother calls me selfish.

All the time.

Because I refuse to do what she wants me to, because I have already begun to put myself first, because I refuse to now please the crowd she puts before me.

My mother calls me selfish because I do not like being the only one assigned to watch over unruly cousins whose father does not know how to parent.

My mother calls me selfish because I would rather be at work than be at a family gathering.

My mother calls me selfish because I would rather be treated like an adult human being than the perfect robot she wants me to be.

My mother calls me selfish because I don't give her the answers she wants to hear.

My mother calls me selfish because I know how to stand up for myself now.

My mother calls me selfish because I would rather be alone than go out to the dining room and have a conversation with her, where I know that everything I say can and will be used against me in her own rule of court.

My mother calls me selfish because I'd like to be asked what I want to do, how I feel, what I think, every once in a while.

My mother calls me selfish because now that I'm 23 and can't be bossed around, it's all she can hang against me.

My mother calls me selfish because I stopped caring when I turned 20; because I realized it won't matter, I will never be good enough.

My mother calls me selfish because I am, I guess. I don't really care.