Murder Me

Three fun facts about me: One, I’m a condom baby. Two, My mom wasn’t really supposed to be able to have kids, So my siblings and I are kind of  miracle babies.     And three, I’ve spent almost half of my life wishing That these first two had ended me Before I even began. Believe it or not, Looking back on yourself At ten, eleven, and twelve And realizing     God, I was actually <****ing> depressed Is pretty horrifying. My mother doesn’t know how to love me. At some point The love she had for the child growing in her womb- If it ever existed at all- Was perverted by her selfishness. My mother doesn’t love me, She abuses every ounce of trust I gave her in my childhood innocence. She destroys my relationships. Poisons my friendships. She is everything that scares me about myself, Gave me my worst fears. She has spent almost eighteen years Murdering the wonder and hope of a child, Teaching her to hate herself, To mistrust others, To hate and hurt and lash out. She has spent almost eighteen years Murdering me. 12/20/17