I am not a mother
And for that reason,
It wouldn't be fair for me to speak to the frustration you must feel having a child who just couldn't ever get it all together.
I cannot remember the times as a baby where you consoled me without anger.
I cannot fathom that there was a moment in my life where you held me and rocked me to sleep without feeling like I somehow owed you something.
I cannot speak to how many nights you spent awake crying because I kept you awake and all you needed was just a few hours of sleep to keep going.
I cannot recall these things, but I think, I hope, that you were the kind of mother back then, who did it all.
I am not a mother
I do not know the kind of disappointment that having a 29 year old child living at home must bring.
I do not always get things right
I do not always pull my weight and I don't pay your bills and I see the way you clench your fists and sigh everytime I have anything to say back about your demands.
I am far from perfect
I have caused so much pain over the years and believe me I know,
I haven't made loving me very easy.
But I am not YOUR mother.
It is not my job to regulate your emotions.
I am not obligated to take your side in every argument even when I know you are wrong.
Because sometimes, you ARE wrong.
I am your daughter
I have tried my whole life to make you proud, to prove to you I am worthy of your love, even though I am no longer a "child".
Sometimes it works
You give me your love when it's easy.
When I do something you can brag about to your friends.
You love me when it's convenient,  for YOU.
Then again, a mother's love isn't supposed to be conditional
The silent treatment only makes me fold further into my own skin.
Your back handed comments about everything I don't do, and how I should be so grateful to have a roof over my head, only breeds more resentment and hurt inside of me.
I know I am lucky
I know that so many other families have it worse and that from the outside looking in, we are this perfect family.
The thing is, no one is perfect,  not even you
I never expected you to be a perfect mother, a perfect mother does not exist.
I expected you try.
I expected you to teach me how to love myself before anyone else because I am deserving of it.
I expected you to be there for me when things were falling apart, without judgement, or anger, or guilt.
You never loved yourself either
And my heart hurts to think about the stories of your childhood.
Your own mother could never give you the love you deserved.
But I NEEDED you to break the cycle
I needed you to ask for help.
I needed you to recognize that you have caused a lot of hurt for me too.
I needed you to want to change.
To this day, you've never gotten the treatment you so desperately needed
I'm not saying this to be mean
I'm saying this because none of us are immune to trauma and if it's not dealt with, the cycle continues.
Unfortunately,  I am now part of this cycle too
I cannot help but think that if you had only gotten the help you needed when I was younger, I wouldn't need to be the one in treatment for trauma.
I cannot help but wonder what our relationship could have been like today, had you faced your own demons and fought them, like the warrior I know you can be.
But I know,
I am not a mother.
I am under your control.
It is how you like it.
How you need it to be.
I am not a mother.
I am silenced.

i carry my mother’s rage
in every part of me;

i am never without it

i carry my mother’s rage
just like her mother did,
and just like her mother also did


if destruction is a form of creation,
then my mother
was never an inventor.

i find myself reflecting on my girlhood
what should’ve been
i grieve the girl i could’ve been
if these addiction genes didn’t flow so steadily
like an unwavering whirlpool
it wasn’t your fault your mom didn’t care for you
but why couldn’t you care for me
we all have  ways to cope
mine is taking pen to page
yours was needle to arm
i grieve for the girl you should’ve been
for the mom you could’ve been

daddy why don't you love me anymore
you know mom never did
it's almost as if you're dead
yet you're still alive
you can't protect me from her insults anymore
because now, you're the one going along with it

My mother and her mother,
(four generations of mothers to be exact)
All conceived children They didn't want,
because They couldn't bear the alternative.

My sister and I are the only two who survived.
The intergenerational resentment
that is cast among each woman in our family
who decides to carry the burden of their unwanted child.

My mother loves us as much as she is capable-
Just like her mother and mothers mother before her.

Birthed into four generations of hurt,
that longed for acceptance and love that only a mother could give.
But each mother couldn't.

It took four generations of women and their pain
and longingness for love,
to create two women who are full of nothing but love
and are hungry to give it to the world

(we forgive you, because it's all you've known)

In the last hour I dealt with a lot
My own definition of why I look dour
Memories I hid six feet under the ground
Came emerging, grasping, and clawing at me 'till I'm found

Saying what's good for me, but my thoughts aren't considered
Ignored by a mother, a father, a neglected child
A child that mimicked Rapunzel locked up in a tower
A child that had gotten their smile devoured

Each day they get thinner, all hopes get hindered
Clouded thoughts, faded scars, and their music gets louder
A habit to cloak emotions, not being able to shed a tear
Refraining from going to beer, avoiding others out of fear

Consolation comes through rose lenses,
A gun held to their head but not packed with powder