letter to mother

 

I think I will miss you.

 

Yes. I think I will miss the idea of you.

Much the way

the person you love

is only an idea about me.

 

We are like children

holding balloons.

‘This is my Mother’ (but it’s only a balloon)

‘This is my Daughter’ (but it’s only a balloon)

both of us concerned

about losing the other.

The string that connects us

so fragile and thin

is somehow protecting

my fragile ego

from my new description;

“See that girl? She’s an orphan.”

I see that the whispers have also touched you;

“Her daughter ignores her. Was she a bad mother?”

 

Will people think that? and how will it impact you?

I

will

tip-toe

away from those people

away from those questions

farther from you now

to untie this string soon

and burst my own bubble.

I will pop this balloon idea of my mother.

 

The idea was a really lovely one.

It was about a mother’s love being pure.

I’ve been keeping that one

close to the heart

even though bad things have happened

I wouldn’t let it be marred.

 

All those ugly words,

the rejection

in the form of an unwanted ultimatum,

the misunderstandings,

your refusal to listen,

and that time you asked “Why?”,

then agreed, and then changed your mind…

I did not

hold you to account

for these things.

 

In the first,

I saw another person

who I deemed to be

more responsible.

And the rest

I thought

was not beyond

my ability to tolerate.

 

I walked this path

to hold on to you Mom.

 

I wanted to hold on

to us

but you said

that you had already given up.

 

You’re my mother!

You were my mother.

 

I feel lost

without a mother.

What strength can I draw from

to convince you

that I am worth fighting for?

 

I have found none,

it seems to have leaked out in the places

where you treated me like a stranger

and became a victim blamer.

 

Even if I find that strength again,

the energy to fight for us,

I am pierced by the knowledge

that the person responsible

is you.

There is no scapegoat

and no blame passing now.

I must sit in the room with honesty

as she explains that you did this

of your own accord.

 

I’m not angry enough to sit in judgement.

What I have to say is not your punishment.

 

Pure love does exist,

it is not

what you offered

to me.

 

Dear Woman,

I am no longer your daughter.

My mother is Love, my mother is Truth.

My mother is the woman who helped me give birth to myself.

Dear Woman,

I am no longer your daughter.

You are no longer my mother.

What more can I write you?

 

Dear Woman,

This is just to practice

our introductions

Sincerely,

A Stranger.

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