Last Lovely Daughter

The rather truthful outlook on my dis-functional and abusive relationship with my mother.

The only things that ever left her thin, almost transparent lips were lies and puffs of smoke coming in between her teeth rapidly, a secret she tried to hide. Her chapped lips entered the room with a cigarette dangling from them, due to a combination of blood and spit. The wrinkled corners of her mouth connected at either end and while this happened, you could see it. A permanent outline of black used specifically for emphasis of just how yellow her once gleamingly white teeth had appeared.

She possessed a frail nose, similar to mine which I suppose makes sense. Her eyes bordered close together, framing her face and connecting the spot where her nose ended. She had beautiful eyes that could pierce a soul; in fact, they did. An eccentric green with spots of hazel and blue specifically dotted at every corner, most prominent, a ring of gold directly enveloping her pupil. They always seemed sad, her eyes; they had a pleading nature about them, always begging me to stay.  I once envied her eyes, but knowing the pain that lurks behind them, I could now never want them. Under the alluring eyes laid engraved fabrics of swollen skin extending to her cheeks and darkly molding her face with a tired expression. This expression connected to thick strands of unkempt blonde and white streaks cascading to below her chest. Flashes of purple and green trailed down her slim arms, intertwining in her stunningly spider-like veins, which only pumped a leisurely stream of blood and resilient addiction through them. It appeared as if her skin and muscle tissue clenched onto her skeleton, about to break, about to fall and from her skinny thigh to her shins, purple and green decorated the surface of them.

        Matching her despicable appearance, her aura appeared both equally violent and peaceful at all times. She moved in a stealth motion in resemblance to that of a cat but not mirroring their speed, instead, taking her time. I once found her weeping on cold,wood floor surrounded by cleaning detergent and broken glass bottles. She stared at me intently with her beautiful green eyes and her expression of desperation turned to anger. Sopping wet cheekbones began to open, her mouth moving with them as an excruciating scream blasted throughout the halls. She collapsed to the floor once more and tears rolled down her cheeks like lies flowed out of her mouth. She grabbed my ankles and pulled me down as she had done many times, in every sense of the word. Tears coated her white eyelashes while blood and vomit painted the surface of her thin, chapped lips. Wailing my name and tightly grasping onto me, she pinned my nine-year old body to the wall slurring out some now obsolete threats. Between her screams that night, I could hear my gates of captivity releasing and I could picture ink staining the papers that would make that official in the governments eye’s.

  Images of skinny arms and vomit stained lips continue to haunt my mind constantly. Her bony hands wrap around my ankles once more and her piercing green eyes stare back at me, just the way that they once did. A six year old to present-day version of myself searches for the escape. Her threats and her cries of fury sound sharply while the distinct aroma of smoke and intoxicants envelop my body and my life. Her steady heartbeat that pumped that same resilient addiction through her spider-like veins rings violently in my ears and I can barely make out the shadow of a much too familiar face. Although, this face is no longer my mother’s. This face belongs to a stranger.