Martyr

My mother is a martyr and steals
Spotlights and starlight at center stage
Demands attention for her sickness
And never admits to blame for her

Mistakes, I wish I was one of her mistakes
Because failing to raise two children you
Wanted was enough of an indication not
To have a third, we never deserved to be

Put under the care of a creature incapable
Of showing love, growing up under the
Impression we were never enough for
Her, and being so restricted we never

Noticed the slow torture of the mind games,
Of falling under the spell of her insane ways
Of thinking, her righteous ruling over children
It would have been better if we had been

Raised under a different roof, a stable place
Where the rules were designed to keep us
Safe, and not being enslaved by unworthiness
And self doubt, affection was screamed and

Shouted and problems were only addressed
When they were presented on silver platters
I ask her, what the fuck is the matter that you
Would leave us to suffer instead of opening

Your arms, I’ve learned love is harm and am
Terrified of showing the vulnerability inside
Me, she dropped us at sea and as I held my
Brother and sister close I realised most of the

Parts of her I hated were growing in them,
The tantrums and rage and tilt of their heads
In smug realisation, they are royalty, my friends
Tell me I am lucky to have a mother who does

Not care, who lets me dye my hair and run
Free what they do not realise is that I starve
For the moments I see their mothers ask them
About their day and listen with interest and

Are unafraid to joke about like they are on a
Level ground, I hear the sound of laughter
Choking in her throat and eyes glancing around
To ensure everyone heard her pun, I am done

With the women who demands respect when
She throws away proof of her neglect, she
Is damaged in ways I cannot comprehend
And us children were simply ways to mend

The rift in her soul without putting in the effort,
She is a jealous beast and her eyes rake our
Bodies like we are meat, she would put my
Skin on as a suit to make herself feel better,

This storm has weathered me and under her
Shadow I cannot breathe, I am afraid of
Losing myself in the hatred of her eyes and
Defensive pride, before me is a figure,

A person, another face, a self-hating being
Who does not know her place in this world,
Us three curled at her feet, wrapped in chains,
Not a mother, a martyr, bathed in our pain.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s