She tells you that she loves you, gives you kisses and best wishes-- she mends your scuffed up knees and pats you on the head, you'll always love her.
When you grow up with a father who tells you you're worth nothing, leaves you, hurts you, tempts you to do all evil--you hate him with a fury.
When you grow up with men, touching you, raping you, hurting you, taunting you, you grow a little callous over what used to be a heart.
When She says that you're her baby and she cries with you and fights for you, you hold her close and tell her, "I need you."
When she denies all ties so that she can care for you and love you, all attention for YOU, you're duty is to thank her. Your debt is to worship her.
When your wrists drip out red and your veins are pumped with pills, she'll visit you in the hospital and say she can't live without you.
You'll believe her and you'll hug her, tell you that you love her, then try forget the words that you're father tattooed to your soul.
He told you you were stupid. He told you you were selfish. He told you you were ugly, fat, ignorant... Young. He said it's all your fault, then left you to bleed; literally.
She held your hand and kissed your cheek, then one day, it wasn't at all about me.
She'll slap you in the face with all the debt that you owe. You don't love her, care for her, respect her, want her, because you don't kiss the floor for her 'sacrifice'.
What is sacrifice, when you're not first?
How can you love her, when she has to love God before you?
Your happiness means nothing unless his voice echoes approval.
Your love means nothing, if it is not chast.
Your faith is invalid if it does not match her ferver.
She will cry because she's ugly. She will say how she is lonely.
I will tell her that she's beautiful. I will say that I am here for her.
Constantly.
I 'do not care about her' if I can not ignore my own life to comfort her.
I 'only think of myself'' if I can not be around her, because I need to focus on not slitting my wrists as apposed to lifting Her spirits-- giving her affirmations.
You may think that I am crazy, but when you walk aimlessly in the rain, with nowhere to go, because your mother tells you everything He told you, from the begining-- that is not love.
It is not love, when you have to take care of her, emotionally, when she refuses to do the same, because 'you're not walking with the lord'.
It is not love, when, in general, you have to coddle her insecurities, when you're the one who slit your wrists and downed a fistful of painpills at 12 years of age.
It's void, when she unloads all her problems on you, when you're struggling not to put a revolver to your lips every morning.
It's irrelivant, when she tells you that you're selfish and don't care about her, because, every once in a while, your voice fluctuates, because she's correcting you and telling you you're doing everything wrong:
She'll kick you out of her house for kissing a girl.
She'll lead you to destroy, everything you love, because you'll 'go to hell' if you don't.
She'll ignore your desires because they're not God's.
Mother? What have you done for me?
You've kissed my wounds and held my hand--
You've poured lemon juice on the lacerations and twisted my arm behing my back.
I do not love you.
I do not love him.
Mother: You've hit a cord too many.
I might be a selfish little bitch, even if I don't think I am, but I'm sick of feeling like a fucking failure. I'm sick of having parents who were illequipt to have me in the first place. I'm the reason everyone should be pro-abortion. I hate both of my parents for not discarding me, before I had time to remember it and let it emotionally alter me, for the rest of my life. Fuck. That. Shit. I'm going to enjoy my twenties and I don't need either of you to do it.