A poem about my strained relationship with my mother
|It was you who discarded my love,
It was you who made me numb.
You exposed me intentionally,
You claimed it was to protect me,
You locked me into that room,
You lied that it would get better soon.
Last time I listened to this album,
You hurt me too much to fathom.
I was eighteen, you were drunk,
I was fifteen, you called me a punk,
I was ten, you were high,
I was five, and already wanting to die.
I remember friends could never come over,
Even when you were sober,
It was always I who would suffer,
You never cared if I would ever recover.
I remember you calling me a dyke,
Escaping you is my fondest memory in life,
I still fight against your brutal grasp,
I dread when I will have to attend your funeral mass.