I watch you, you know. You think no one is watching you, but I am. I always have.
I’ve been watching you since you were a baby, when you first discovered my existence. I see you in the mornings, before you leave for school. You’re poised, the picture of perfection. No hair is out of place; your shirts and skirts are clean and pressed. You are the perfect ‘A’ student.
I see you, smiling at your parents. You act as respectful as possible and they don’t suspect a thing. Why should they, you’re perfect.
At school, you are no different. You’re the example everyone hopes to be. You are intelligent, kind and strong. You lead the student council, you run the debate team — it’s almost as if you’re everywhere.
But you can’t avoid me. I still see you.
But things change when you leave these people. At nights, when your parents are working, when there are no teachers in sight, I see the crowds that come to you. I see how you change.
You’re wild and uncontrollable. Your hair, normally quaffed, is everywhere. You’re the life of the party; all the eyes are on you. You’re the one who drinks the most shots, who dances the hardest — and yet, despite all you do, you’re not going to regret this. You’re the life of the party.
I never see you by yourself, you know. Maybe when you’re sleeping or in the bathroom but that is it. Do you really need their adoration? Why are they all so important?
You are the A student.
You are the perfect daughter.
You are the party girl.
Who are you really?
Will you ever show me?