There is something about becoming a mother that makes you examine the crimes of your own

I do not feel safe with you
My intact body does not equal an intact mind

When I look at you I don't see my mother
You stopped being all that that encompasses a long time ago

Calling me out for being shy when in fact I was just lonely
Believing I was not worthy of the space I took up
Believing my strength was only in being good, performing well and tending to others
Forgetting that I too had a voice
The ability to speak not just listen

You didn't protect my peace
You didn't protect my sanity
And you didn't not teach my how to do it on my own

Maybe you thought my tear streaked face was just my face

You put me in a position where I shared your roll as a mother
Caretaker of the entire house
And in that teaching me that I was only valuable in what I could give
But not valuable enough to receive

I am glad I have a son
He will not have to hide his body in sweaters too warm for the season
He will not be subject to your view of what it means to be a woman
He might actually be as confident and self-loving as your own son

There is only so much oxygen in a room
And I wish you had raised me to believe I could have some

But your biggest crime of all is making me believe that it was laughable that I could be loved