She who became misery
I didn’t see her
the way she was,
young and thriving,
instead of constantly dying.
Migraines
Seizures
Kidney Failure
Blood Clots…
pain driving her
to abuse drugs
and drive her away
from who she was.
Headstrong to defeated,
words of understanding
turned to arguments, heated,
and playing games and laughing
on the living room floor
turn to sore beatings
and abusive scorn.
The years passed,
and she got worse,
fighting with her husband,
her own son,
constant fighting with those
she loved.
I was the only one
she didn’t fight with
because I walked on eggshells
did as she asked
too afraid to argue
even if I didn’t trust the task.
After she died, I felt guilty,
because while I was depressed,
my heart a mess,
relief washed onto the shore
of this tragedy.
The days of walking on eggshells
had ended…
I was free from the abuse
of her misery
yet she was my mother
how could I think this of she
who gave birth to me?