The Essence Of Who I Am

It’s such a curse to love those who hurt you

But in a way, I am hurting myself

My mother is me

She molded me like clay

I was her prize that she manipulated to win

I was doted on until I wasn’t

Her love was never a question because It was never the answer

It was always black and white
The world was never misunderstood

I almost wish it was that easy
Thinking like a child

But I was never a child
I raised my mother
I raised myself

Maybe that is why I find being a mother myself so hard

I’m so tired
The nostalgia is a thick smoke that I choke on

But then I wonder if I did this to her
Did I create the problem

Or was she always broken
I wasn’t the glue she wanted

I was just a fad
That faded

My siblings were competition
But they never won

Her love for us was just a check that was outdated

M.A.P

©️ 2023