Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the table
While I look outside
So many things I'd say if only I were able
But I just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by
Mr. Dare raised the coffee mug to his lips, peering over the newspaper. He eyed his daughter carefully. Nine-year-old Rachel sat at the breakfast table quietly, counting the passing cars out the window, in a feeble attempt to bottle up her anger.
You've got opinions, man
We're all entitled to them, but I never asked
So let me thank you for your time
And try not to waste any more of mine
"Rachel, don't you think it's time for a new pair of jeans? Those are a little ratty." Mr. Dare put down his newspaper and looked over to his daughter, an eyebrow raised.
Rachel very much enjoyed her ratty jeans. She didn't mind the pen stabs or the paint blotches spreading across the denim. She, in fact, wore them as a token of honor.
She sighed, twirling a lock of frizzy red hair on her index finger. One day,she was sure her father wouldn't think of her as a complete idiot and he would stop wasting her time on the pivotal details of life. Rachel knew there was so much greater things to worry about, aside from her ratty jeans.
I hate to break it to you, babe
But I'm not drowning there's no one here to save
"Dad, these jeans are fine." Rachel said, a low growl adorning her voice. Rachel was no longer a child. He could no longer save her, when she didn't need saving. As she learned, life was full of decisions, and as she had come to realize why fix what's not broken. And she, Rachel Elizabeth, was not broken. Just different. That's all.
And who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be,
Who died and made you king of anything
"You really ought to start looking more like a young lady and less like a hoodlum. You need to be more prim, more proper." He said, sipping his coffee once again.
"Daddy, but I don't wanna be proper. I want to be an artist. Like Van Gogh." Rachel smiled thinking of his beautiful paintings.
Mr. Dare rolled his eyes at his daughter's fantasies.
You sound so innocent, all full of good intent
Swear you know best
But you expect me to jump on board
and ride off into your delusional sunset
"Darling, Van Gogh got lucky. His...works, I guess...were exposed and, eventually, recognized as art. Very few painters get that lucky. You need to base yourself on a more stable career. Like business, for instance. That had good money." Mr. Dare patted his daughter on the head, throwing his head up in a look of pride. His family would be one of success. That was his goal.
"But, I thought you said I could be anything I wanted to." Rachel looked at her father, in utter confusion.
I'm not the one who's lost with no direction
But you'll never see
You're so busy making maps with my name on them in all caps
You got the talking down, just not the listening
Her father's face flushed.
"Rachel, how do I put this to you?" He said, anger lining his gruff voice. "We come from a family of success. It's up to you to continue that success. You need to work hard and study more. You need to grow up with etiquette and respect. You have to have your mind set on this. Do you get it?" He had planned it out this way since the moment Rachel was born.
Rachel pouted, crossing her arms across her chest.
"No..." She looked up at her father.
And who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
You dare tell me who to be,
Who died and made you king of anything?
"Rachel, you must be-"
"Daddy, I don't want to! Why can't I just do something I want?" The nine-year-old questioned.
"But Rachel-"
"Why do I have to be what you want me to be?" At this point, Mr. Dare was pacing the kitchen rubbing his temples.
All my life I tried to make everybody happy
While I just hurt inside
Waiting for someone to tell me it's my turn to decide
Up until that moment, Rachel always did her best to please her parents. She worked hard for good grades. She cleaned her room. She even ironed her clothes. But she needed just a little bit of freedom. Freedom which was not granted.
Who cares if you disagree
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
And you dare tell me who to be
Who died and made you king of anything?
Alas, Rachel jumped out of the iron chair to go color some sunflowers. At this point, it didn't matter what she needed to be. Because, despite what her father said, she was going to be the next Van Gogh.
Hey, guys! Boring, cheesy, tacky, Ooc, yup, yup, yup. I just had to write something. I'll be updating dating profiles this weekend (I had finals :( so I couldn't update). I know it sucks, but feel free to give constructive criticism. Y'all have a good day! I own nothing, King of Anything ® Sarah Bareilles and characters ® Rick riordan