Impossible to Find

Mother

When I was a small child,

I was naive and willing to believe every word you said.

I believed you when you said you and daddy would stay together,

I believed you when you said I was beautiful,

I believed you when you said you'd be okay.

When I was a pre-teen,

I was lost and confused,

Because I slowly found every word you told me was a lie.

You and dad divorced; you had me pack his things,

Everyone at school called me the pure opposite of beautiful; you were no where to be found,

You swallowed alcohol just as much as the loneliness of my life was swallowing me; you didn't notice.

As a teenager, I knew who you were,

I knew that you were just as hurt and as angry as I was,

but I still could not find the patience to deal with slurred words,

And the all the trips to the emergency room.

The couple of hours you spent out at the bar,

Were long nights when I wished that i would be asleep before you came home,

And looked at me with sad, accusing eyes.

Slowly, you started to say what was on your mind,

Spitting words like lightning,

At the metal bones inside my body,

And I'd tremble from their shock for days after.

Soon, the gentle hands that tucked me in as a baby,

Turned into cold, concrete that kissed my face a little too often,

Leaving small traces of purple and blue on my cheek.

Night,

After night,

After night,

After night,

When you would finally make your way home,

And fall asleep with your drug of choice in hand,

I'd hug my pillow and cry,

Wishing that one day something tragic would happen,

To either you or me,

Then I'd cry more for wishing something so horrible

On the one person who was supposed to love me,

The one person who was supposed to comfort me.

My mother.