Writing

collection of my poetry and short stories

Mother Of Mine

I'm afraid for her as much as I fear for myself. I fear that I will be plagued with these same battles my mom stubbornly refuses to let up. I fear that she would make me her commander in these long drawn fist fights that I refuse to fight. Cause I'm tired and worn out too. I'm tired of fighting the battles my mom has created for me at a young age. Battles that have left me so mentally fucked that sometimes I wonder how I'm still functioning. 

But that is what happens when your mother looks at you with disappointment and hope. The odd combination of "What did I do to make you turn out this way" and "You have the highest potential to be better than yourself". Those are the two parallels I've always fallen into and to be honest, shit is never going to be different. As the days go by and her face is worn from years of wisdom, I'm scared my mom will leave this physical world without confronting herself. Confronting the notion that she may be mentally ill and that her mind doesn't collapse once in a while when she thinks about what her life use to be. That is what I fear that my mom will one day, sooner rather than later won't be able to recognize herself and have closure.