L O V E M E

L O V E M E

Is the words she carved into her skin

knowing the crevices she had just created

with that rusty kitchen knife

would make no difference to her " Mother "

This wooman had six other kids

that she only claimed in public

As I looked around this house,

filled with so many things,

but it was much too empty

to be called a home

I spotted that old Christmas picture

Photographed in 1998.

It was just of me, Her, and my father.

Things were good back then ...

Before Daddy ran of with that tramp

from down the block

Before she started drinking and smoking pot

Before she retreated so deep within herself

that those little magic white rocks were the only thing

that brought her back to life.

But witht the life it gave her,

it fueled her with anger and paranoia

With the life it gave her

she no longer recognized me as her precious angel

no longer spoke in those soft, soothing tones.

Insead,

She spoke in shrieks of anger

Profanity decoration her words

like skeletons strung up during Halloween.

The hands she used to stroke my hair with,

so lovingly

became knife-like claws that tore at my scalp

Became prints across my skin

Documented by the blue and purple bruises

that always appeared in the Morning.

And like a ritual I'd cover them up with concealer

and act like it never happend.

Never mind the fact that my skin would be so tender

that even when the wind blew a caressing breeze

it would hurt so much

but i'd pretend it didnt happen anyway,

As a way to hide my shame away

I'd shove it all behind my bright smile

and act like eveything was alright

I'm only her daughter when the mood strikes her,

but i wish i could strike her like she struck me 

and left me bleeding on the bathroom floor.

Strike her like she let him strike me,

like i was his child.

Like i wasnt the daughter she had given birth to

as she sat in that chair,

and watched him beat the life and blood out of me

while she got high

Strike her cause i was angry

strike her cause i was hurt

cause i was done pleading with God to take the pain away

cause it would just repeat.

Day after Day

She spoke to me less like her daughter,

and more like the hired help of a person

Born into money.

Only speaking in insults, sarcasm, and documented anger

Kept track by the broken vases

That I repeatedly had to sweep up off the floor

And pick up out of the carpets.

L O V E M E

Was the words she carved into her naked skin

Exposed stomach, she raised that blade and acrved it again.

L O V E M E

Was the last words she carved into her skin

Before raisinf that revolver

Putting it to her head

And painting her "mothers" room

Red with her fresh

blood.