I wrote this letter poem shortly after going no contact with my 'mother'.
May you never find a moment of peace, as you so greedily tried to steal every one of mine.
🖕🏻Joke's on you, you monster.🖕🏻
Hope you like being the star of all my nightmares. What a legacy, Bravo. 👏🏻
"Dear Mother,"
I could have been a good daughter.
We could have shared smiles over sipped coffee at a local shop by my new home.. the one you've only seen once.
Neither of us knew then that it'd be the first and last time you crossed my threshold.
I know it now, I wonder if you do too?
On second thought, though, I'm sure you won't notice such a minor detail.
I could have been a good daughter.
We could have roared with laughter till our bellies ached at an inside joke one of us made.
Laughed until we were gasping for breath and wiping our eyes, trying to stay present enough not to burn the dinner we forgot we were making.
We could have made it a regular thing between us. Making dinner together for our weekly weekend visit as a family, but then again, you aren't familiar with that word are you?
"Family"
No. I suppose not. I suppose if you were, we wouldn't be here, would we?
I could have been a good daughter.
We could have embraced and really meant it for once, maybe as a simple greeting or maybe after sharing some long forgotten memory that sent us both down a warm and tender stroll through some blissful veil of nostalgia.
I could have been a good daughter.
I could have held your hand when dark and dreary rain clouds loomed over your head, threatening a down pour of despair.
I could have molded myself into your umbrella the way you had always been mine. But that's just a silly little fairytale isn't it? A hazy dream, but never reality. It must be, for I've felt soaked to the bone for so long my marrow must be soft and green with mold by now.
I could have been a good daughter.
But you'll never know that.
We never shared smiles, you were too busy sharing insults and rage with a five year old.
We never roared with laughter, I was too busy sobbing on the bathroom floor until my belly ached while you burnt our dinner, too busy shouting at me through the door.
We never embraced like we should have because while you were too busy pointing out all my flaws I was too busy repeating your words to my reflection in the mirror.
That little girl deserved better than you.
I never held your hand during dark days because you were too busy telling me it was my fault the clouds loomed above you.
I don't know if I'd have been any good at it anyway. You'd never taught me how to love and heal. You taught me how to fear and bleed.
I could have been a good daughter.
I just never had the chance, for you were never a good mother.