Dear Mom

A poem about mothers, when they're not what they're meant to be.

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1. Dear Mom.

 

 

You took my hand when I was little

said ‘I’ll always be right here’.

You picked me up when I had fallen,

kissed my scraped knee when I cried.

You fed me promises at age zero

but they withered and went away

as I grew into a frightened little lady

with a mind of my own and a head full of dreams.

 

You taught me I was everything when I was little

then I grew up and you took that away.

You put me in a glass prison

when you showed me

all the things I could achieve

but at the same time tore apart

every shred of confidence I ever had.

 

You taught me to run then you stuck out your foot for me to trip on.

You taught me to sing then you laughed at my voice.

In the end you taught me nothing but not to trust; not to let anyone close ever again.

Now I’m flying on borrowed wings while the ones you gave me are being mended

because you ripped out every feather with a smile.

 

I may be limping along but I’m moving forward

leaving bits of myself along the way.

I can’t help but keep looking back

wishing you’d come limp along with me.

But you will never admit to being broken

I will always be the crutch you lean on.

If I didn’t break your legs, then who is there to blame?

Surely you yourself can’t be at fault.

So I take my mended wings and dash toward the canyon

hoping against hope that they will take me above my downfall.

I pretend to feel no guilt as I see myself into the horizon

because I owe you nothing. Except I do, don’t I?


In the eyes of others, you gave me eighteen years.

In my eyes, you gave me nothing.

You raised me like a stray dog you hadn’t the heart to turn away,

but hated none the less. 

You punished me for everything you always wanted, but never had.

I punish myself for being everything you never wanted.

And as I turn to take my leave, I face disappointment.

I am the ungrateful daughter; you are the grieving mother,

because they only ever saw what you wanted them to see.

 

 I built everything on a foundation of gasses,

a lifelong picnic under a sky full of clouds.

I never knew when you’d let go of my hand,

but now I know that you never held it.

You held me on a leash,

to shame when you needed to look good.

Because if they were to know, that I never stole your wings,

wouldn’t they see what you have always been?

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