I need
My space.
A plight my mother
Just doesn't seem to understand.

I know she's looking out for me.
I know she wants what's best.
But invading my personal poetry book,
Without my permission,
Is not what's best.

When she found my writing,
I knew.
I searched for anyway to keep her out of it,
Without causing a fight.

My poetry is not for anyone I know I real life.
These words are for myself.
Strangers are welcome,
To see if they can find a piece
Of themselves
In myself.

But relatives and friends are not.
The last thing I'd need is Kate discovering this book.

I didn't say anything.
I'd find a way to hide those notebooks better,
She's never know I knew she'd found them.

Then she had the audacity to bring it up,
Asking if I was worried about people finding them,
And seeing that those I write about are real.

I bit my lip,
But retorted that I took measures
To keep people from finding them.
No one was supposed to find those ratty books.

Furious, she yelled,
Declaring that she only wanted to take interest
In my life.

"Fine!"
I Retorted.
"But I never said you could in this way."

"I don't have to ask you permission for things,"
She snapped.

I fired back,
"When it comes to my writing,
Yes, you do."

She got up.
"You don't want me in your life,
I'll stay out completely.
Good luck finding a ride to school tomorrow."