Where Are My Words?

source of life.

Mother.
You've been there since I was born.
You chose to have me.
I came out of you.

But mother,
sometimes I look at myself and wish
that you would've chose a different option.

I often sit in my room
and wonder.
I question everything I've done.
I ask myself if you're proud.
I ask myself if you actually enjoy me as a child.

I don't feel it.
I don't feel anything.

Mother.
I know that one time you cried
when we had to set me up for therapy
because I had acted through my pain.

But mother,
I think about that,
and I don't believe you cried
because of me.

I believe you cried
because you felt like a bad parent.
You cried because I'm an awful example.
You didn't cry for my pain.
If you did, why did I receive blame
for your actions later that day?

You don't show love.
I don't feel it.

Mother.
I know some people have it worse.
However, I'd appreciate
if you didn't make my feelings seem invalid.

I know other children are physically abused.
I am not that.
I know other children don't have parents.
I am not that.

But mother,
I do not feel the love you are supposed to provide.
I feel useless to you even when I try.
The last time you told me you loved me
was on your birthday, 2017.
Dad forced you to say it.
Before that, the night a friend died, 2013.
You felt you had to say it.

I do not feel loved.
I fear I am a nuisance.

Mother.
Every word that drips from your tongue
is a shout.
Yelling constantly
will not solve your agitation.

And mother,
hearing you yell and scream
drives me further away from the place I'm supposed to call home.
I'd die to be somewhere else
since anywhere else would lead to less cursing
and shouting.

Mother.
I'd like to go out one day
just to never come back home.

But mother,
I'm sorry.