Friday, March 20, 2015

To Mother, Again

You are a cultivator of death
A farmer of pestilence
A bringer of disease
A teacher of ignorance

Your womb's laced with razors
Your breasts trailing bile
Each step you take
Leaves a pit like a grave

You have no right
You, who imperilled your children before you would provide for them
Who abandoned them before you would work for them
Who played with their lives for the sake of a drink

You have no right to anything
To anger
To resentment
To us

You took the forgiveness you did not earn
And made it a blade to fly back upon me
A thousand cuts salted with the knowledge
That you have never cared

But you misstepped
You thought my goodwill was unending; it has a sharp edge
You thought I was weak; I am stronger than you will ever dream of being
You thought you were like your mother; you're only half right

In cruelty, yes
In pettiness, yes
In intent, yes
But she at least was smart

She at least had her shining mind
She at least could play the game you think you've mastered
Her cuts were clever
Her lies were believable

But I am not you, and you are not her

It must be hard to be the dull brown between two points of light
Indignant with no dignity
Scheming with no cunning
Designs with no architect

Just stupid and mean
A mediocre monster

You will wail and moan at this
No one will care
After all, you never stop screaming
But you've only made me scream once

That night on the highway
It must have been a great high, to be worth that
The lives of your children
The ones you loved so much that you never tried to get them back

You've thrown away so many unearned blessings
That I suppose my love didn't seem much different
Thank you
It would have been such a waste to spend one more moment on a person who doesn't deserve me

My father ripped us away from you before you could inflict your damage
And now you never will
We escaped
You lost

So don your plastic pawn shop crown
Cloak your shoulders in cheap used fur
Reign over your flea market realm
With power that cannot touch us

Know I am beautiful
Know I am brilliant
Know I am strong
Know I am happy

And you can never change that

6 comments:

Angel the Alien said...

I don't know what to say, except, I love it! The mother in this poem should know that her child turned out so well in spite of her actions or lack thereof.

dawn marie giegerich said...

I'm so sorry. My mom didn't like me either. Children of the Scorned, excuse me I'm drunk and in Mexico and ready to leave a second husband.

WARPed said...

Get it all out...you gotta let go of this!!!

:-)

-Andy

Jay M. said...

Good to see you using your writing for your betterment. Good also to know (not that I didn't) that you turned out the way you did despite the mother.

Peace <3
Jay

jo(e) said...

I love this part:

Know I am beautiful
Know I am brilliant
Know I am strong
Know I am happy

Arizaphale said...

Awesome work: writing and sentiment. "Don your plastic pawn shop crown...."
I love that we can put this stuff down on paper and release the poison in our systems. It is part of the process of letting go.