I’m looking up the things I was to afraid to do on my own. And what's this? A new pop up opportunity for-wow. I just don’t how this works anymore.Why is my life split in two? Each a juxtaposition, a prime example of paradox. Not quite, because I don’t know what to learn from them ripping me apart. In one life I’m with you. I come home and something, anything happens. The thing I’m not allowed to talk about you bring up boldly in a pitiful plea for my attention, for my help.Instead I give you tough love because it’s the only thing that gets you to start to think of anything, of yourself.
How is it you can be so selfish and selfless at the same time. You made so many mistakes, you had me and my siblings, you married my father, you let him do what he did to break us. You let me learn to hate, no loathe myself What else could I do? It was the only thing I'd known how to do, the only example I could emulate.You let me leave the person I could have been, buried deep in that hollowed out mannequin I was becoming. I know that you are not the only one to blame, but you are someone I can. You were the one who was supposed to keep me from being led astray,or even from simply being led away. You let me know I had to be different.
You were the one who held me as I cried over a scraped knee, in a grip so suffocating of protection and a need for me to know that you were there. You taught me what love felt like, what life looked like and gave me the passion to change it, to change both.
Now I’m looking up crisis numbers for you because you hate technology, and you won’t call for yourself. I told you to call, I told you to call by the end of the night. Then you said he would be home soon and you had to clean. How it is you go from telling me that you have a depression that I wouldn’t understand to discussing household chores. You tell me this depression is something you’ve carried in you for so long. I guess no, I don’t know what it is like to carry that ticking bomb in you heart for 30 years. But I held it for two,and the bomb went off. You knew that and with the pieces I was picking up of myself I was able to lie to you for the first time. That was the first time you asked. How is it you didn’t know, that we all had explosives strapped to our chests.You lied to me, they lied to me, and I don’t know who to believe but I want to believe and help you.
How can I pick you up as you once did for me and say it’ll be alright? Tell you that the monsters only live under the bed.
You scream in whispers you don’t want him to hear. No, they live in my head.
I know I can’t help you. I am a child, still trying to understand what happened. I stumble blindly around the truth,tripping over wreckage from our history.
Why do I ask? Why do you tell me? How could I respect you?
I will let you learn as you have let me, from your mistakes. I am healing now, and you cannot help me. I know that now because you will not help yourself. You, yourself. To to know who that is. I can’t tell you who you are, but for me you will always be my Mom. However confusing and tangled up that word is I know you love me even if you can’t show it how I need you to. You tried your best, but I need you to try better for yourself.
Even if I don’t know who you are anymore.