I remember her,
shouting at me when I was a little younger.
I've out grown those days of being made to think that I am lesser than a man, or playing with boys would turn me into an lesbian whose only revenge of never having kids would be based on the fact that she, my mother Christine stuurman, lessoned herself.
with fistful of hurtful words from him,
with bruises she still loved him,
with kindness she let him in,
into our lives,
Shed her bed with them
living the same old lie,
men after men,
as if they were orbiting around her like the sun and star
What about me?
Why didn't I change she still asks today?
I did,
I changed every perception of men,
I changed how I treated them,
like dirt in sewage pipes they were to me,
I trampled on their egos, hating their existence and not understanding why my mom lowered herself so much for men. I wish she had opened her eyes, loved less and love herself more.
but life opened my eyes too, all I wished for her was to find a man so loving and understanding as the one I've found.
