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Oh mother, my mother

  
First this started as a poem that rhymed
With a pretty flow and thoughtful words
But I as I read it over and over disappointed that it couldnít portray my feelings, I grew uncomfortable with expressing this deep, ugly, devolved emotion that has now surfaced in 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 me to swallow my self whole. If I looked at you and my nervous system didnít shut down all control of rationalization spiraling me into a trauma response I wouldnít 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 youíve done to my family, what you have done to me. Iíd say something like this:  

I canít see beyond the layers of who I am that you havenít 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 didnít felt seen, you gaslit and surrounded me with people who would say that you knew what best for me. Imagine why I always thought there was something wrong with me. For my whole life I believed I wasnít worth any type of emotional connection. That I wasnít 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 everyday 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 didnít make me feel like a stranger. You favored my brother, while letting me grow up thinking I didnít have sisters. You stole my young potential and now I am lost in the world without knowing who I could of 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 canít 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 theyíll have the best advice. †

Oh mother, my mother †
Iím 28 years old †
Trying to fix the hurting child †
That has been smothered in my soul †
Until this very point †
Iíve been absent all the time †
I didnít 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 donít see the damage youíve 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 wild flower  
Yet those blooms still grew within me †
As much as you despised  
Now I pick up the pedals  
Youíve ripped from between your vine †
Does mother love me †
Does mother love me not †
Your intentions a 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 †
Iím 28 years old  
Standing in this garden †
With the torch now gone cold †
Thereís little stems sprouting †
Through the ash and debris †
Of who I once thought that I was †
But was never meant to be †
My garden was in disarray †
But now Iíve planted dreams †
Of the woman I know can be loved †
And is worthy of being me.  


Keep your vines out of my garden
Isgyppie_
Written by Isgyppie_ (The_perpetual_journey_)
Published
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