Would that you might have
Deleted the day I was born
Before my eyes could focus
And see the truth in yours…
That you never loved me.
In every “love ya” printed on
A birthday note, I heard a liar
Making poor pretense of being Mom…
You were maternally corrupt
Smug in your superiority as the adult.
You called me stupid, naive, as though
Your bitter cynicism, disillusionment
Regret for irrevocable choices made
Were medals to be coveted…I think
You envied my chances not yet taken.
You mocked everything about me…
In particular, my hope that there
Was more ahead of me in life
Than the role of your scapegoat.
You despised me with a fire beyond
Passion’s cool describing and belief
By others…consummate actress
Outside our home, none of your peers
Would catch you in act of cruelty…nor
Dad, who kept you on delusive pedestal.
But there was a Witness…the One who matters.
I didn’t need to send God a memo…
Sixty-some years later He’s still
Picking up the pieces of young soul
You shattered over and over…and
Pasting me together again and again.
©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.