my mom isn't like other moms but she was once like other children

i like to imagine her:
laughing with friends,
begging to go shopping,
doing homework,
dancing at sleepovers,
braiding her hair,
fixing her lipgloss,
gossiping with her best friend,
falling asleep in class,
painting her nails

i think of her happy
a little more like me

i like to ignore how
she was bad at giving hugs because of how bony she was,
she couldn't take me to the park because she was too weak,
she was always covered in bruises,
she couldn't buy new clothes because we were poor,
she couldn't stay awake during a movie,
she had pill bottles scattered around her room.

i wonder how she imagined her own life as a child.
three kids, an abusive boyfriend, no money, and addicted to drugs?
probably something a little more brighter.

she once told me
she wished she was strong enough to be the right kind of mother