|
By Misti Date: 2004 Oct 26 Comment on this Work [[2004.10.26.13.49.14246]] |
|
painted for blind eyes composed for deaf ears thrown up into the big blue sky for one who dwells underground I have found you in myself, Mother and I don't know what to do with you just as you don't know what to do with me we speak different languages find holiness in different things you have your jewelry and angels and Jesus I have my poems and books and no recognizable savior save my reflection in the streaked mirror I don't care to polish I know your parents my grandparents their lies their tyranny their small town ignorance and resolute clinging to dead mythologies I know the hell you survived the hell disguised by Easter egg hunts and birthday parties and pretty frilly dresses I can only imagine the hell your brother my uncle survived what the hell do you do with a gay kid in Seymour, Texas? you were the popular cheerleader who fell in love with the wildest boy in town that Rainwater boy who dropped out of school after sophomore year your parents took away your graduation gift a car when you decided to marry my father the first pregnancy was an emergency trip to New Mexico for an abortion the second pregnancy was me the greatest blessing and biggest mistake of your life Mother, I just sent you another long e-mail explaing myself more or less for what feels like the millionth time I am so tired of fighting this battle how can I make you know me I feel like I am here to make you know me whether you want to or not I am not comfortable in the Comfort Zone I am not happy with blinders on Mother, I am hungry and angry and small and spectacular and I do not have a cabin or husband to hide inside and I will never again attempt to quell the tide with trips to the mall praying to Jesus stalling for time there is a lot of grime, Mom but unlike you I don't feel the need to scrub it all away today is another day of wondering how much longer can I survive on a pocket full of quarters and circled newspaper ads today is another day with no rent money no phone my boyfriend is almost handicapped but he says he will get a second job to keep me here and you do not sympathize you are only sorry that I sent you two bitter e-mails yesterday because none of this is your fault Mother, I am sorry for asking for too much I apologize for my angst I am your daughter and it's inconvenient for both of us you will never listen to the songs that have carried me through a lot of shit or read the poems that have lit me up despite an eternity of darkness you will never buy used clothing survive on macaroni and cheese and cookies from the dollar store you have comforts and stability and a ranch and a husband who loves John Wayne but you also have Lupus and a full-time job despite physical pain I hope I never have to endure you are small, Mom as small as me and I have seen your brutality and your fragility and I love you more than I can express in an e-mail that seems like I am only asking for money. |