Letter to My Mother


My hates me because I am everything she's not
anymore.
I am the embodiment of the beauty she felt she
once had but lost.
So she insults me to feed the pain she has living
in her soul.
The pain has built a home and has been there
since I turned 9.
At night I cry and the hot tears that carries the pain
that my mother has set upon me.
Every teardrop has a memory of a time where she
was so unkind.
Could it be that she is jealous of me, or just never
loved me?
I refuse to believe the woman who carried me
for nine months doesn't love me.
Maybe she wasn't ready to have me or love me.
She was so young, no older than 21 when I came
into her life.
She didn't get a chance to live.
So she stops me from living.
She never told me I was beautiful.
And if she did I had to really try to prove to her I was.
Her words leaves scars on my heart.
They hover in my mind on repeat.
The glow I once had have now dimmed.
Yet I love my mother.
She makes me who I am.
She makes me how strong I am.

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