Why, Mama?

Mama, I want to know why you tell me I have a bad character,
when all I ever did was refuse everything bad
and tell you about it.
Mama, I want to know why you have a problem with me being happy;
I am rarely happy, and when I am
you do everything in your power to stop me.
Mama, did I ever do anything immensely wrong?
As a child, yes, I have made mistakes,
but none too drastic for you to label me a disgrace.
Mama, you don't know that I am living just for you.
I don't want you to be alone when everybody moves away.
Mama, why don't you love me?
Why don't you let me be free,
when you already know that I won't do anything.
Mama, why don't you respect my privacy?
Why don't you let me be me?
Mama, why is it that you curb my social life,
knowing that I already have less than five friends?
Why don't you let me hold hands, leave the house
and have a little fun?
Why don't you trust me, Mama, why do you think
that these petite hands can do wrong?
Mama, why?