He told me to stand tall and to make it look natural.
But I slouched hard.

He told me to walk with my hands in a fist, so I could look tough.
But I walked with my hands limp and freely.

He told me to sit against a wall with one leg up.
But I never sat against a wall.

He told me to sit down with one leg crossed over the other like an L, or with my legs wide open and apart.
But I usually sit criss crossed or with one leg over the other.

He told me to shake someone's hand hard and to make them remember how hard it was.
But I often hugged before a handshake and if I did shake someone's hand—it would be as sensitive and soft as I am.

He told me not to cry, because it was weak and embarrassing.
But I cried all the time and in front of anyone.

He told me that he wanted to be the only figure in my life.
But he never was.