All my life, mother,
I’ve loved you above myself
even when you’ve loved yourself
more than you’ve loved me in return.
I now know you’ve hated yourself
for making me abandon myself
in hopes you’d love me in return.
You’re sick, my mother;
But I am strong, and you are proud.
You don’t have to change
because I am
I erase your guilt
because I am strong,
and I can handle you.
Self-hatred comes only in
Tolerable for yourself;
when I’m teaching you lesson
I’m fucking hating myself
because I know I’m making you
fucking miserable, reminding you that you’re
a shit mother–and it’s not even your fault.
Do you know the rage in my heart
kept hot for your mother and father?
How is it that you can forgive them–
have a relationship with these two fucks,
but I cannot stand to even think their names?
I am your offspring, and I love you better than a mother.
I have taken care of you, chased off men better than a father.
I am your daughter, and sometimes I don’t want to be.
But really, who the fuck would I be without you?
I’m grateful for my life with you because
you taught me how to live.