I was young and neglected and struggling to become someone. I knew nothing of who I was other than that I was the product of everything I never wanted to be. Lost in the world, and wandering to find something that felt like home, though never having a clear conception of what home really was. I pretended in the role of an adult, silly child in a woman's body. I had curves, and seduction...I had charisma and grace. I spouted philosophical jargon, and debated humanity as a whole...then crawled into bed with the devil. My mind was raped and my heart was tortured, and I began to break apart. I was the empty beer bottle on the ranch fence, one-two-three shots shattered. I was shards in the sand kicked clear across this desert. I was, exactly who I am. Broken.
Again I pulled up and carried on, still struggling to find out who I was. Confessions on the doorstep of a church I dared not enter. Pews with eyes that sought out a soul, prayers to tear my existence apart. Melted candles with flickering flames, I danced across lives I knew I would never discover again. I left my confessions on the doorstep of this church...never accepted. Succubus of sexual depression, I dove in deep. I clawed through the trenches of hearts that were lonely and pined for attention they sought for themselves. I painted a spotlight, that would forever shine...on only me. The light was my guidance, a doorway to my identity, and I saw the dancing flame. Flickering, and teasing me with all of my confessions, and I saw what I had always been. Unaccepted.
Skipped across time like a pebble thrown to the water, and I'm crying in the darkness of a life I had no idea I was living. I was locked in the wonder and fear of what I could only hope was love. I had never known love, and was blind to its truest form. I had dreamed that it was fairy tales and romance, kissing frogs and coincidental circumstance...I dreamed of being rescued. I was strong and determined, but I was young and I was foolish. I knew not that I was the only one who could rescue me. And one day I looked in the mirror, and I saw what I had been dreaming for so long. Rounded belly.
Now this life it grew inside of this empty shell, and I sang and I rocked and I again pretended. I prayed to the stars that I was meant for this. I prayed to love and to cherish and to never abandon and neglect. The stars heard my prayers and the sky swallowed this challenge and took a miracle out of my hands. My shell was empty. My confessions unaccepted. My miracle gone...my prayers answered. In the dark of the night under a blanket of glistening crystals I shed tears of pity and cried out "Why???". I didn't understand why I had been robbed. And then I saw my reflection in the window of a home I had desperately tried to make mine, and I saw what I really was. Lost.
Then the day came when I finally held in my arms, the wish I had been dying to be granted, and I cried. My tears flowed like the widest of rivers, and they held no joy. It was pain and anguish, and years of attempting to find out who I was, wrapped in a tiny pink blanket in a cold room all alone. People came in and went out and they were faces I did not recognize. For three days I cried, and then I carried her home. Home to a place that wasn't mine. Home to a yard she would never play in. Home to a place where nothing was everything. I cradled her and I tended to her, but I knew I would never love her. I couldn't even love myself. When she opened her eyes and showed me heaven in her smile, I was ashamed. I knew what I was then. Undeserving.
She grew and she learned and she was beautiful in every way. She walked and she talked and I shied away. I moved myself into the shadows and lent to her my painted spotlight. I gave her my life, and in so many ways I knew I was giving her nothing. I was cruel, and I was blaming and as I screamed her eyes would water. Her tears filled me with a guilt I had never felt before. I couldn't hug her, I couldn't kiss her, and I still did not love her. She had taken me from me. In the mirror where that woman had once stood, I saw a stranger. Darkened circles under eyes that were swollen, and hatred that boiled deep. And I realized again who I had become. My mother.
Now I tried to repair the bridge I had burned. And I loved that little girl with every part of my being. But she was no longer little, and had learned only what I had taught her. To never forgive. Her eyes were like daggers and her words cut too deep. I was lost and I was empty, and I was cruel and I was....I was me. And I knew I hated me. So i laid in my bed, in my world all alone, and I prayed to a God I had never had faith in, that he would hold her in arms that were deserving of her love and beauty. I cried harder than I had ever cried before, and I begged him to do all of the things that I had never done. Keep her safe, and never fail her. Show her LOVE. I broke her, so you could fix her.
And I closed my eyes and sank into myself. I accepted all of the things that I had done wrong. The clock had stopped ticking and time was done, and I knew where I was going. And though I thought I had been lost, I was there all along, and had I only chosen to be accepting, I would have been loved. If I had only forgiven the salt on these wounds, my daughter would have loved me. If I had embraced her, I wouldn't have been empty, for she was the void I had carried all along. And had I given my confession to the parts of her life where it would have been knowledge, she would not have been lost.And had I forgiven my mother, the circle would be broken, and I would no longer be undeserving.
And I prayed again before dying:
Carry my child in your arms and show her kindness. Carry her in your heart and show her love. Carry her on your shoulders and teach her to forgive her burdens. But above anything else, carry my child because she is broken, and show her that love is the glue that will fix her. Show her she is worthy of loving herself.