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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2322292
mother daughter relationship through my eyes
I do not know how to talk to my mother.
She is as hard as stone.
She made me in the same way.
Our relationship has always been navigating through mine fields.
One wrong move, and the explosion would swallow us whole.
My sister says she is strong for battling her handicap with grace.
I say she is weak for making me give up my dreams to help her when she got her diagnosis.
"You need to come home and help with the house, the bills, and me."
Our family sees her struggle on her feet.
I know she never intended to do her PT.
She calls to tell me she doesn't feel well.
"The air is too hot; it makes me feel sick."
"Sit in front of the fan, it will pass."
Dial tone.
I have no sympathy for my mother.
She never had any for me.
Is it selfish to want to talk to my mother?
I want to talk with no threat of a mushroom cloud in the distance.
My mother wants a war.
A battle to say she has claimed.
Why does she want that battlefield to be us?
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