do you remember the time
when you said that you
wished you could send me back?
that you wished
you had never adopted me?
do you remember
when i called you a
substitute mother?
I was only 6
years old,
but i should have known better.
the first half of my life,
i was the problem.
i broke rules—
broke trust.
broke you.
eight years later,
everything was a fight.
i didn’t hate you,
but i hated our relationship
because it was a minefield.
ten years later,
and we’re teetering on the edge
where anything i do
can send us over.
i almost miss the constant fighting
because at least i felt angry
instead of scared.
scared of doing the wrong thing,
because i always do, every time.
at least then,
i did not have to live with
the knowledge of my guilt.
but i should feel guilty,
but it hurts.
but i should be hurting,
because you are hurt.
i want to scream,
“𝑰 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨 𝑲𝑰𝑫”,
but you were just a mother
being dismissed
by a child who you only
ever wanted to love.
now, i am the one
whose every mistake
weighs heavy
because it is one
out of a tall, tall stack.
now, i am reaping
what i sowed,
and swallowing
the bitter fruit.
sorry, it’s been a while. and, hoo boy, this is a long one