Dear mother.
Though my love for you is unconditional,
As the love of family should be
I have learned to accept that it is not returned.

When I say it should be,
I mean that I hold the same value as the picture frames that linger on your workstation.

When I say it is not returned,
I mean that when I’m finally introduced to new people, they are not shocked that you have another daughter.

Unconditional does not mean I linger in the shadows of your embarrassment, right next to the divorce you almost had.
I have learned to accept the darkness, as your only source of love.

Dear mother, why has it not occurred to you that a heartbreak doesn’t have to be a lover.
Your tongue of blades has cut my soul for the last time.

You are often the topic of my therapy session, always ending in “why do you give her so much control?”.
My only answer is that it must be my unwillingness to accept that maybe God doesn’t think I need a family.

What is a life where not once, but twice you have been cast out of the cult that is supposed to be life long.
Maybe the cult is life long, but your love for me never will be.

Dear mother how can you not see that you are my biggest threat.
My guts spill out of my stomach onto my feet every time you message me.
My chest conclaves into itself for protection.

How does my ability to love the same *** equate the audacity of ******.
Since when does love become a bigger threat than the *** trafficking that takes place right on our doorsteps.

Dear mother, how can you not understand that heartbreak doesn’t have to be a lover, but sometimes reveals Itself to be a mother.