Ever since I could talk,
I have only ever given you gifts with my words -
you were my first, after all.
I never told you all the hateful things burning my tongue,
even though your own words made me want to scream
"I HATE you mummy!"
I never did it,
because I knew that it would hurt you more than your words hurt me.
I can remember curling up on your lap,
watching bad TV in the living room,
warm and safe and silly.
And every now and then,
when I thought you were feeling down,
I would wrap my tiny arms around you and say,
"mummy, I love you."
because I knew what I could mean to feel a bit of love every now and again.
'But, mummy, why did I have to grow up?'
I know that things got hard.
I know that a lot of it was my fault -
if not all of it -
but, mummy,
you don't have to be so damn mean.
I know that you were stressed,
and that I was depressed,
and that our family was still clearing the headache from the last SCREAMING match,
but why couldn't you just let me finish my - ?
... sentence.
I was going to say 'sentence', but you cut me off.
Again.
Why wont you just listen to your daughter when she says she needs you?
Why, mummy, is it what no matter how many times I say,
"mummy, I love you",
all you hear is,
"mummy, I hate you!"?
Tell me, mummy,
if you are really so wise,
who's fault is it that I cant just say,
"mummy, l love you" any more?
Who's fault is it that, now,
all I seem to say,
all I seem to cry is;
"mummy, I love you, but..."