Dear mom,
Thank you for all the grief
All the suffering and frustration.
Yes, I know.
Child labor is long.
But I can't help it when
My teen rebellion instincts kick in.
Crying,
Screaming,
Yelling,
Perfectly made to disagree.
Nights without sleep,
Wishing for a better life.
Tears blurring my eyes,
Frustration gets the best of me.
The taste of salt on my pillow,
Rarely worth it.
Rehearsing my lines,
Building the courage to
Say
What I feel is needed.
Crying is tiring.
Eyes swelling,
Forcing me to go to sleep.
I fight the whole way.
And a dead night takes me.
Early morning rise.
Stumbling into the scalding rain.
Falling asleep under the hot steam.
Face turned up,
Waiting for the memories to hit.
All too soon,
Wishing again for ignorance.
Water only seems to get hotter,
Allowing the unbridled,
Futile,
Unavoidable,
Anger
Seep through my veins,
Drugging my body in hostility,
Feeding it to the abomination.
I slowly turn the water off,
Wallowing in malignancy.
The morning frost impacts,
Leaving me,
Cold,
Naked.
Fiercely wrapping myself,
Blindly following routine.
A sullen walk down the stairs.
With each step comes fear.
The awkward good mornings.
Coffee maker is apathetic,
Torturing me,
Insisting that I make small talk.
A small dispute goes off.
Heat that once warmed my feet,
Burns,
Lifting it's vengeful,
Lethal,
Poison.
Which my mouth is getting ready to spew.
I don't understand half the things we say.
Some of it hurts,
Most is the truth.
Regret.
Shame.
Hurt.
Only make the words you say,
Deadly,
Armed with shards of glass.
I leave,
Picking at the wounds,
Fishing for the glass you lodged into me.
I slam the door,
Hitting my shoulder,
Pain,
Fuels the misery.
All I want to do is apologize,
Feeling unworthy of forgiveness.
I hear my name being called,
Being summoned like a slave.
I ignore it.
I can't ignore it.
I don't ignore it.
I'm in front of you.
I purge my guilt.
Readying myself for the scolding,
The loud, sharp, ringing of your voice.
Only to be met with compassionate eyes,
Mixed with grief,
And a tinge of shame.
The hugs proceed along with Despondency.
I was wrong.
No, I was.
It's not your fault.
I feel horrible.
More crying,
Simultaneously
Relieving our minds.
Hugs and kisses,
The making of promises we'll attempt to keep.
The stories of when you were my age.
The curtain closing,
Bittersweet.
I love you, mom.