Oh, mother
Don’t pretend this is how it always goes
Do you notice that conversation
Doesn’t flow between us anymore?
I don’t want to hear about my father
None of what you dislike about my sister
Sometimes your words are screaming monsters
Like those whose shadows children are afraid to see
On their bedroom walls

The daughter you know
Is the one who is eight years old
And I know you’ll never have the time
To know the daughter who’s fifteen
Oh mother, things
And people
Do change
But I’m not sure we can both agree on that

The tears come
When I’m with you
They only really go away
When those you think should matter less
Take them away
Blood is thicker than water, you say
But forgive me
If I’ve stopped believing the things you say
A long time ago

Trust me when I say
I hate that there’s a dull ache in my heart
When I speak about family
Because I don’t know how much of it
Is real
And lasts forever
Something that won’t disappoint
And bleed my heart dry
For I am exhausted of this game
Of playing pretend too


Oh, mother
I could go on
But it hurts to speak the truth
And if you knew about this
I know I’d be disgraced
For not listening to the things you tell me
For not valuing family
For not believing in you
For not being able to recognise you
As the same mother I loved when I was eight
I think you’ve left your old self behind
With your time for me
And now you carry my eight-year-old shell with you
Showcase it as if you know
What metamorphosis is
You don’t see me as a butterfly
Because you only know the caterpillar
Is it really that simple to you?
I used to know this home
It seems like a long time ago
Now when I visit it in my memories
It’s only bittersweet
And I never like to say that things and people
Can be broken beyond repair
But maybe we are
Not so much like pieces that form a kaleidoscope
More like ones that cause catastrophe
With explosions and tears
And broken hearts and minds
This is us, I guess
But oh, mother
I wish it didn’t have to be this way.