Motherhood: A gift or a curse?

Dear Mother, I didn’t understand before, As much as I understand now. No matter how cruel a mother you may be, You are still my mother. You wore me down to my brittle bones, And continued to gnaw at the little marrow that was left. Go on, finish me off, and eat the rest. Birth me again, and maybe this time it will be different. Remember when I was a little girl, and I would catch You critiquing your reflection in the mirror? You told me you hated how you looked. Did you know That people tell me I look so much like you? You didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault you were born screaming, In perfect unison with your mother, And that you never learned to stop, Not until I was born, screaming just the same. I forget You were a girl once, too. Also Making lemonade for quarters, Splitting clementines with your friends, And begging for your mother’s attention. We were so angry At each other. I was afraid Of becoming you, and you were Afraid of me becoming better. I didn’t understand before, As much as I understand now That I want so desperately To crawl into your lap and never leave again. I’ll rot there and be silent, If it means that you will smile down at me, The same way you did the day I was born. With Your eyes wild and full of compassion, unknown of who I’d become, if not a mirror of yourself, Holding the same knife of rage you held at me. Rock me, Mama, I promise I understand now.