Her meekness was my weakness

It began with a Mother, as life usually does. She accompained sweetness, gentleness, all things soft and safe, which was all I needed until the world toughened around me, probably at the age of ten. Then she was weak and meek and submissive, when I needed strength and bravery and a voice. I couldn’t speak up, for she didn’t speak up. She was easily imposed upon, agreeable to anything, afraid of confronting. This is who I became.

So now I teach my daughters bravery, fuck-you-in-the-face-ery.

Fuck all you dicks in the world and your brothers and sisters too, fuck you.

I can say this because I can, and also because I don’t really mean it. But the Mother had me believe that everything that is said, is truly meant. So I could never say anything nasty to people, or I would be haunted by fears of karmic consequences and judgement from the great souls of my parents, the eyes of which watched my every move, even while they were walking this earth and even when they were not, such is the power of a parent’s eye.

They still eye me, but I eye them back saying, hey – cut me some slack!

The Mother I could never be…I can’t swim

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