A mother is a figure
In life.
Someone who teaches you
Connection,
Understanding,
The bond between
Mother and daughter.
That is something
I never had.
No deep conversations.
No understanding.
Not because I was difficult.
Not because I was cruel.
But because I’m different.
Yet I still know
My mother would do anything for me.
Yes,
She truly loves me.
Yes,
She accepts me
In a way she knows how.
But not in the way
I wish she could.
Yet I am still
The one who makes everyone laugh.
The one who listens.
The one who stays.
The one who supports everyone
When they need someone.
And still,
The words often came:
“You’ll burn in hell.”
As if I don’t know that already.
And yet,
She still says,
“I love you the most.”
So we talk about
Everything except
What truly matters.
Because if we look at it,
If we name it,
It becomes a fight.
We hide behind
Shattered glass,
Waiting to see
Which piece
Will break first.