holly temple. four. cbd.

 

holly temple;

I cut the hair off of all my dolls by the time I was six, stuck myself in every single finger with sewing needles that I had no business trying to use by the time I was nine. My hands, if you look closely, are littered with tiny scars where I have ripped apart the skin there in a desperate attempt to create something. Anything.

It wasn't that I was creating something magical, after all.

I was no small prodigy, girl born to create. It never matter to me though, could never convince myself to listen to my mother when she told me to find something else to do with my time, something that would make my father happier. I never let myself be disappointed when she looked at one of my sketches with distain, when she never said more to support me. In a way, I think I've convinced myself that it's better this way.

The less I need from her, the less she can let me down.

My mother looks at me and Riley and I can feel the way our beauty affirms her own, a mirror reflecting back her own worth, and I am so tired of the ways in which she ties me to her. And then I see Sailor Shaw on my television screen, see photos of her in magazine spreads that I greedily try and read at the newsstand before the teller can notice. Model turned designer, girl with her name in everyone's mouth. Girl who doesn't need anyone but herself.

I want that.

I'll do anything to get it.