Your face is supposed to make me feel safe
Your smell is supposed to remind me of milk and warmth
Your voice is supposed to be soothing
But everything about your presence brings me anxiety
and it's your fault.
I can't sleep at night
because I toss and turn with memories
running through my head
like the methodical twisting and turning of
the French braids you used to put my hair into -
Memories of times when you failed to protect me
and when you helped hurt me
and denied I was ever hurt to begin with.
I see you attempting to atone, and I feel guilty for not
seeing things your way
I want to forgive you as easily as I forgive the cat
for watching me cry
The difference is that the cat is a cat,
blameless without morals or human sentience
and you were my mother.