Mom

For Ma

I spent a lifetime trying to earn your love,
never understanding why you hated me so —
why your letters condemned everything I was,
why you couldn't forgive my father for being who he was,
even as you'd once wanted him enough to lie beside him.

You watched your new husband tear me apart —
abused, tormented, beaten, touched in ways no child should be —
and you watched. You hoped I'd fail,
so it would be easier to say see.
You put my brother and sister first,
every time, in front of me,
and you laughed while I cried,
while he told me I was nothing,
that there was no room for me
next to the son he already had.

I wore your hate like skin
until it nearly destroyed me —
and it reached the ones I loved too,
because I never knew how deep the wound went,
never felt good enough even in my own eyes,
so I became whoever everyone else needed —
anyone but myself.

I wish I'd seen it sooner.
Sooner than the night I tried to leave this world.
Sooner than watching the only love I ever had
walk away, because I couldn't yet be me.

I pray for the strength to forgive you.
I haven't found it yet, even with you gone.
I pray God forgives me
for not forgiving you the way I know I should.
And I pray, every day,
for the strength to become
who I was always supposed to be.

Joe Abramuk