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My Monologue based on the painting A Sunday at the park by George Seurat
My mother brings me to the same spot every day
Pick flowers she says
Sit there like a lady she says
and I do. Just to make her happy.
I can't wait for the day when I can stop picking the flowers for her own diabolical needs
I mean, she just sits here for hours, doing nothing, I mean NOTHING
and after I pick all of her flowers she makes me sit by here. doing nothing, just like her
I want to do more, than just sit. I want to invent
I want to create things that can pick flowers for her,
I have tried to make my invention, but she disapproves on women doing anything more than sitting and waiting for a husband.
Winter,spring,summer,and fall. Everyday sitting, and waiting for HIM to comeback,
She's a widow you know. Husband went off an got himself killed, so she waits for him to come back, hoping he isnt dead.
I've never known the man but, I wish he was here.
Then maybe she won't make me pick flowers all day everyday
Im so sick of it, The second she lets her grasp slip on me, i'm running
Far far away, away from her, away from this park, away from the flowers
People call me flower girl ya know,
It's not easy being “flower girl”
I can't go anywhere without people knowing who I am , even on sundays when the park is closed.
People jeer and throw flowers, I hate this town, how judgy they are.
I hate my mother, just sitting there, blocking out the world,
You know what? Im gona run.
Im gona run right now