12 years
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I will always share a face with my mother. The woman who knows nothing about me- my loves, my dreams, not even the pain she’s inflicted me.

She will never know those things because I will never tell her.

That woman will always be part of me.

Although I want to tear her off of me- her hurtful words, ridiculing my life, my religion, and my father. I want to efface every painful memory.

I will never have a mother.

I want to give her back her nose and eyes- no matter how beautiful I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see her very time I look into the mirror.

I don’t want to be anything like that woman.

That woman is my mother.

I am her daughter.

But those are only titles.

Why else would a mother abandon her child? Why is it that I can only remember the times she guilted me, embarrassed me, and made me cry?

She took away parts of my life that could’ve been beautiful. She dirtied my innocent childhood and coughed up spit with a breath that smelled of cigarettes. She pinned bloody sin all over my innocence.

Yet she still says “I love you,”

words just as empty as our titles.

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