An Ode to Mother 2005-2011

A fusion of poems from old notebooks and the present.

I. Reflection

I remember tiger lilies.

We would take them from the wild and plant them in our backyard.

Do you remember when we enjoyed each other’s company?

Around the time of the tiger lilies.

We did that often.

Every year.

Until I got older and you decided that you didn’t like how I turned out.

It became easy for you to prove me a failure.

You mastered the art of insolence.

All those venomous words still pulse within my brain.

Irresponsible Unreasonable Disgusting

Unlikeable Stupid Selfish Ugly S**t B***h

            White Trash F**k Up

And my favorite, “The Girl Boys Take into the Closets at Parties”.

I remember watching you pace in the kitchen.

Crying and breaking down.

Sputtering vicious accusations with your ears sewn shut.

I was always the cause of all problems.

Because I “fucked up my life”,

I absolutely “ruined yours”.

You wanted to send me away.

How can you say that? 

Tell your daughter she ruined your life?

Do you remember the looks of disgust

that would come upon your puffy-eyed face

whenever I would enter a room?

Because I do.

I remember them.

I remember how much you made me hate myself.

You made the biggest crack.

And the rest of my mind shattered.

I couldn’t eat, sleep, or breathe.

I could only smoke, cut, and f**k.

Forms of physical pain were the only reassurances that I was still alive.

For I felt nothing else and assumed I was dead.

Do you even know how you fucked me up beyond repair?

Even if you don’t,

I still will never tell.

I’d rather look down upon my permanent tiger lily,

and pretend we’re still picking flowers.

II. Entrapment 

I’m not who I want to be.

I feel restricted.

Like it’s wrong.

I’m stuck in a cage.

No way out.

I don’t want to be this person.

I want to be in control.

Sooner or later, I’m going to break.

I’d like to get that through your head.

That I’m not your puppet.

I just want control.

Is that too much to ask?

I just want my life.

Do you realize you can’t do this?

I’m not forever yours;

You can’t decide my every move.

III. Despondency 

I don’t want to deal anymore.

I’m in a rage.

Suppressed and distressed.

I can’t f*****g take it.

Make it stop.

It’s all worthless.

You make me feel worthless.

Just so damn unhappy.

With these never-ending tears.

I’m not who I want to be at all,

and it is you who is stopping me.

Maybe I like the way I look.

I’m my own individual;

viciously, you only disapprove.

Why don’t you get it?

I don’t care what others think;

why is it so important to you?

Let me be myself and don’t say a word;

I’m not happy with how you want me.

I don’t know what to say,

cause you are putting words in my mouth.

Driving me to insanity.

How can I reason?

Too judgmental.

Too cautious.

Too narrow-minded.

You speak too soon.

Lay your irrational thoughts to rest.

Stop trying to destroy my lifestyle;

you would kill it if you could.

I’m just,

So frustrated.

So torn apart.

So rejected.

The only thing to do is to

say, “goodnight”,

and close the door.

IV. Perplexity

You destroy me.

You are the key

to my collapse.

The main ingredient

to the fucked up dish

I try to pass off as a brain.

I cannot see the world

without revolting distortion.

Why did you slowly

break me

over the years?

Can you really not see

how hateful you have been?

Do you honestly

believe that you raised me

with love?

Because I know you didn’t.

You swaddled me in

blankets of destruction

ever since my first breath. 

And at twenty-three,

you still spit cataclysmic

declarations into my ears.

And you will never

know how loud

the echo of your detest

beats against my rotted skull.

And how long

your voice repeats itself,

as if you are not

satisfied

with the amount of pain

you have already put me through.

You need to 

ensure my soul is 

f*****g cracked into pieces.

Never able to fit back

just the right way ever again.

Do you really think

I’m that f*****g stupid,

that I haven’t understood

how worthless I am,

after twenty-three years

of your ruthless explanations?

V. Desire

Could there be any chance,

you know what you do?

Is there any way,

for you to believe I’m not a life f**k up?

Don’t you think,

that you’ve hurt me enough?

Maybe someday,

you’ll realize I can manage my own life.

Maybe someday,

you’ll believe I can make something of myself.

Maybe someday,

you will treat me with respect.

Maybe someday,

you will treat me like your daughter.

Author's Note

I'm unsure of the inconsistent styles of writing and vocabulary. I'm eager to know how this compilation from pieces that span over years comes together.

Reviews

[bob, small b. aka invs]

your mother reminds me of my late mother-in-law. why any woman would deliberately chip away at a daughter's self esteem and regularly shatter a healthy ego simply escapes me. we've made excuses over the years for her. this is the way she was raised. she was abused as a child. etc etc etc. but the fact remains it does untold damage to a daughter. there is no excuse for that. i hope you have a good support system and a strong sense of self.