letters to hide

to the mother

dear,
whatever.

16 years.

for 16 years of my miserable life, you lied. ongoing 17, and you're still lying. you've lied about my identity. my birth. my life. and you wonder why i don't trust you.

year 11. the year i told you that one day i would leave and never return. and oh god, i'm still holding onto that like its my last breath. and you know damn well that i will continue to hold onto it.

16 years of my life and never once have i considered you as my mother let alone, a friend. 16 years of endless quarrels and loudest silence. 16 years of our hatred for each other filling the dining table like a perfectly fitted tablecloth. 16 years and not one civil conversation.

do you realize how much i crave that? the feeling of trusting your mother so much that you tell them about your crush? and here i am. scared out of my wits because of my own god damned mother.

did you want this?

did you want me?

i mean you had to get me because you wanted me, right? or was it another one of your mistakes? if you wanted me, then where did your enthusiasm go? why'd you give up so early? was it my fault? why did you keep it a secret? why do you treat the dog better than me? why????

not a day goes by when i think about the memories we could've made. we still can, i guess. but honestly, i don't think you deserve it.

i admit, i was not an ideal daughter. average grades, antisocial pessimist, chubby thighs and bulgy tummy. those are the words to describe me. but jesus christ, no 4 or 6 or 11 or 16 year old deserves to feel like their mother despises them. hell, not even a 65 year old deserves that. and for that, you are evil. for once, you're the bad guy and i'm the one you torture and feed the poison.

mum.

that feels so wrong. i can't ever call you that. you aren't my mother. in any form, you aren't. legally, sure. but i will never accept you to be my mother. hatred was all we had, all i have and all i will probably ever have for you.

and i hope you realize it before its too late. or maybe it already is.

from,
the child you forgot you had.