Monologue of Your Shoes

YOUR SHOES MONOLOGUE

You think you know me. You don’t know the first thing about me. I’m not the perfect daughter you want me to be, nobody is perfect, not you or dad. I’M NOT YOU! I never will be.

You can’t keep trying to change me, trying to make me like you, plain, boring like those shoes, those awful, plain, white shoes. You seem to love those things more than me, constantly paying attention to them, washing and ironing the laces making them all clean. Maybe if you had of shown me the same amount of attention you might know me better and might of believed me when I said I don’t drink and have never touched pot! To say that is one thing but to then turn around and say I’ve been sleeping around and you just sat there whilst dad called me a dirty slut! The one time I need you, the one time I actually want your help, you just sit there with that corpse like gaze you get whenever dad starts!

It’s cold here on the footpath, to think this is my future home. Why you and dad get so upset over me being late? You knew where I was, you trusted me, didn’t you? No I can answer that for you, you don’t trust me at all do you? All you think is that I drink, smoke pot and sleep around. Why can’t you be like grandma? Whenever she was around I felt wanted, like I actually belonged. She was there when I needed her, she understood me not like you. But now she is gone, the one person who actually understood me is gone.

I’ve left the footpath, I’m in my room now, lying on my perfectly made bed, the way you like it. The warm sunlight is beaming on to my face through the half close curtains. Those disgusting curtains you thought I would like, I don’t know what you saw in them, you have always had a strange taste. I used to laugh when you compared me to grandma, it made me happy and proud to be like her, despite you constantly having that envious look on your face. Look at them they are sitting there watching me just like you, those spotless pure white shoes. Your shoes. They...