Nothing Is Perfect (May 12, 2016)

I don't write

To crucify

The institution

Of motherhood.

Rather

Am dealing

With the hurt

And pain.

From

One misdirected

Woman.

For whom

The world identifies

As my birth mother.

Never realizing

Or believing

Some women

Aren't meant

To become mothers.

Unlike

Driving a car

That requires

One to earn

A license.

Child rearing

Doesn't.

Instead

One is thrown

Into shark infested waters

Without any safety measures

And expected

To thrive.

Most do

For those

Who don't

The children suffer.

As I did

With my mom.

When

My younger brother

Went ballistic

In the summer of 1985.

Not sure.

Whether

It was pride

Or guilt.

In failing

With us.

That kept her

For reaching out

To the community

And family

For help.

 

Only hindsight

Knows.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A reflective thought, on yesterday's poem, The Caged Bird, that I wrote. Yes, I retain a lot of anger and hostility, towards my mom, for the things that she did to me, over the years, which has harmed me, in my development, as a person, and her child. And yet, I wonder, how things would have turned out, had someone intervened, and took my brother out, and helped him, to deal with his own issues, which he took out, on the rest of the family.

Why Do Parents Place, One Child, Over Another? (April 2, 2016)

How does

A parent

Place the needs

Of one child

Over the other?

Especially

As the chosen child

Is abusive

And manipulative.

A question

I'm asking myself

For the past 30 years.

The irony is

I am

The one

That gets chosen.

Whenever

It's time

To go shopping

For clothes.

Until

I come out

Almost

A decade ago.

Becoming

Persona non grata.

As if

Having fiction

Confirmed

As reality

Was too much.

Although

They denied this

When confronted

By me.

Like my memories are

A figment of my imagination

That I made up

Of those trips

Over the years.

Yeah right.

And Canada is

Officially

The 51st to 61st state

Of the United States.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: During my Thursday meeting, with the social worker (March 31, 2016), the conversation got around, to talking about my relationship, with my mom. To which, I described, as dead, for the past 3 years, at my decision, for emotional and psychological reasons. Given my mom's inability to respect the boundaries that I have set up, as part of my healing process, and her reluctance, to be seen, in public, with me, when we go get together, at a neutral location. As if, neighbours, from 20 years ago, are going to start gossipping about me, and the transitioning journey, I am undertaking. Honestly, I haven't seen these people, since I moved out, for university, in 1990.

Sheesh. Give me, a freaking break.