A Perfect Mother

(*Sensitive Content Ahead*)

The ink has spilt again

A rush of my hands to hide the paper

The paper she would read as scandalous lies

Meanwhile, my heart has been poured

For the ink has turned to blood

It is whatever is left from the open wounds

It is what expels from the carvings so deep that they won't heal

For her it is disrespect, a mark on her delusion

A perfect mother, a victim of all those who cross her

I did not ask to be born

But she spends her days blatantly wishing I hadn't

Keeping my hair long to reminisce about when she was in her prime

Slipping through men like a coin through fingers

Reminding me I could never possess the magic she holds, the appeal

Keeping me scared for her life that it felt impossible to live my own

Leashing me so I could not breathe if I pulled too hard

Being a child was not an option

My house lacking both accountability and stability

I needed a real mother caring and flawed

Instead I got perfection, a robotically perfect mess

I soak the spilt ink, the blood, with a dirty old cloth

This way I save myself from any more infliction

I can start writing again once she leaves and I am alone

And maybe this time I can come to a conclusion

A period without the colon

For I do not wish to continue

I want the ending beautiful and satisfying

With the pages filled and the wounds fully drained.