All The Things I Didn’t Told You
Tw: absent parents, domestic violence, alcoholism
Mom, I wish you'd had someone back then
who understood you.
But your cold fingers found a glass bottle,
your heart a boy who only pushed
your world further into darkness.
You were only 14 when you took your first sip,
when alcohol became your only solace.
I wasn't there then, but I wish I were,
I wish I could have stopped you
from destroying yourself like that.
Mom, you were still very young
when my brother was born,
not settled in life.
And yet three more children followed,
unplanned and unwanted.
Even when you carried life within you,
nothing could tear you away from your bottle,
but luck held us in its embrace.
You born me with silence, with void,
things who never left me,
you only showed me attention
when I almost died.
You couldn't care for us,
we lived in squalor,
clean clothes beautiful but so alien.
And even my brother was still young,
he took on the responsibility
while you continued to drink
to avoid the feelings from my fathers blows.
But insemination doesn't last forever.
Mom, I was always the forgotten child,
had no place in your thoughts.
I was so angry for so long, why?
Sometimes I still feel it,
but deep down I know you can't help it.
I wish your love were enough for me,
that your mind big enough
to remember my birthday,
how old I am,
but I know now that it will never be that way.
You can never be the mother
I longed for for so long.
Your mind is too sick,
your emotions too weak,
your thoughts too loud.
Well, I understand you and your absence,
that you only reach out in lucid moments,
as if it only occurs to you in the bright light
that you showed life.
And now life is slowly leaving your body,
destroyed by the many years in darkness,
and I constantly think about
how much you have missed and will miss.
You missed the most important moments:
my graduation, my pain, every birthday.
You don't know me anymore,
maybe you never have,
you don't know the abysses
I've had to walk through,
and believe me, you never will.
You couldn't bear any more shame,
even if it's not your fault.
Mom, your shame wears four names,
took on human form,
yet you cannot face it,
so you created an altar with our figures upon it.
I wish things weren't
as they have been for decades.
I wish you could live in the light, bathe in it,
but I know it's too late for that.
I forgive you,
and even though you never chose me,
I love you, I always have and always will.