Oh mother, my mother

      
First this started as a poem that rhymed      
With a pretty flow and thoughtful words      
But as I read it over and over  
 disappointed  
that it couldn’t portray my feelings, I grew uncomfortable with expressing this deep, ugly, devolved emotion that has now surfaced  
in the realization of who you are and who I am because of you,  
as anything lovely.      
     
And if in this moment you were before me
 and if I looked at you and fought off the
 all-encompassing feeling
 that your presence gives
 to swallow  
my self  
whole.
 If I looked at you and my nervous system didn’t shut down all control of rationalization spiraling me into a trauma response I wouldn’t stand there and give you the pleasure of hearing a pretty little poem.
 If I knew I could speak without you over-talking, twisting your perception of what the fuck you’ve done to my family, what you have done to me.  
 
I’d say something like this:    
     
I can’t see beyond the layers of who I am that you haven’t hurt in some way, years of my development, a little sponge sopping up your lies about who I was and who you wanted me to be. And I believed your facade for so long because you were my mother, and mothers are supposed to show you how to grow into yourself. Mothers are supposed to be safe. But you ever only told me how to grow away from my natural form. And when I began to realize this and said how I didn’t feel seen, you gaslit and surrounded me with people who would say that you knew what was best for me. Imagine why I always thought there was something wrong with me. For my whole life, I believed I wasn’t worth any type of emotional connection. That I wasn’t worth knowing or loving. You hid under the veil of giving me material things and called it love. So I would look provided for, so our family looked squeaky clean from the windows that you personally never cleaned. That my dad works hard persistently for as you just empty the moneybags day after day. You abandoned me while still being present. You taught your religion as manipulation. You isolated me from the family that didn’t make me feel like a stranger. You favored my brother while holding me distant from my sisters. You stole my young potential and now I am lost in the world without knowing who I could have been if I was just accepted by you. I was a child.      
     
If I could say all of that to you  
then know I am continuing to heal. This direction that I am going is facing hard truths, and one truth is to love myself I can’t have a relationship with you.  
I decided not to be a victim in your game of life, and to connect with my own inner child, maybe they’ll have the best advice.      
     
Oh mother, my mother      
I’m 28 years old      
Trying to fix the hurting child      
That has been smothered in my soul      
Until this very point      
I’ve been absent all the time      
I didn’t know how deep      
The stems were in this carnivorous vine      
Wrapped around completely      
Suffocating who I was    
Feeding off the child      
That was told she was not good enough      
Living in the shadows as      
The leaves took all the light    
But conforming and making room      
As mother is always right      
Your control, religion and expectations      
Left only parts of me      
And I grew up believing I was full of weeds    
     
Oh mother, my mother      
You don’t see the damage you’ve caused    
Now I try to remove the grasp of your      
Creeping stems and claws      
Im trying to revive the part of me that      
Managed to stay strong      
Feeling shame for blaming you      
Yet you could do no wrong      
You took and took and took and took      
Fed off of what I could give      
Created your own paradise      
From the work others did      
     
Oh mother, my mother      
I was just a child    
Who since birth has felt more of a burden      
Than a wildflower    
Yet those blooms still grew within me      
As much as you despised    
Now I pick up the pedals    
You’ve ripped from between your vine      
Does mother love me      
Does mother love me not      
Your intentions an enigma    
Your words a twisted plot      
You may believe that you have done      
The very best you could      
But delusion is a side effect      
Of this vine you hold as truth      
     
Oh mother, my mother      
I’m 28 years old    
Standing in this garden      
With the torch now gone cold      
There are little stems sprouting      
Through the ash and debris      
Of who I once thought I was      
But was never meant to be      
My garden was in disarray      
But now I’ve planted dreams      
Of the woman I know can be loved      
And is worthy of being me.    
     
     
Keep your vines out of my garden